The Stydia Book
by The Assassin's Son
Summary: Stiles/Lydia: A collection of Stydia moments occurring from high-school life to married life. From fluff to ultra-fluff (if you get the implication) and a variation of genres, this is a collection of Stydia moments! This is the Stydia Book!
1. Nightmare

_A/N: Hello there! This is my first Stydia one-shot, so if the situation comes where it turns out horrible, please excuse me and i sincerely apologise. _

_Granted, my writing skills are yet to develop. But, nonetheless, do enjoy as much as you can. Review, favourite, and follow. _

_Keep calm and ship Stydia! :)_

* * *

She was shivering. The wind was cutting through her thin t-shirt and sleep shorts likes knives, goosebumps rising on her bare skin.

Lydia staggered onward, running frantically through the woods, past leafless trees, trampling on broken branches. Through a maze of dirt, wood, and moonlight above, she finally tripped over an arched branch and fell to the ground.

Her skull was pounding along the right side of her head, making it hard to stand up; she did so anyway. Brushing off small twigs and leaves off her clothes, she brought her attention forward. In the middle of empty part of the woods, where dirt and leaves lay forlorn and dead, was a shirt.

Lydia brought herself – with a slight pain still throbbing against her head – toward the shirt to take a closer look. She should've just ignored it; it was only a shirt. But, there was something about it that seemed vaguely familiar. Picking it up, she noticed that it was grey, a small hole torn at the edge and… and blood soaked across the hem.

With a sickening realisation, Lydia knew whom this shirt belonged to.

_Stiles_, she thought dreadfully.

He was the only one she knew who owned a grey shirt with a hole along the edge, near the seam. She shivered once more, although this time, it was not from the wind.

Lydia clutched Stiles' shirt with white knuckles and tried to settle her breathing.

_Maybe it wasn't blood_, she thought hopefully. It could've be something else. Anything else.

_Wishful thinking, Lydia._

She shot her head up towards the trees. What the _hell_ was that?

"Hello?" She called out, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. She clutched the shirt even tighter. "Who's there?" She called out, louder this time.

No one answered.

The only sound that accompanied her was the wind recoiling back against the trees, blowing dead leaves off the ground and into the night.

Instinctively, Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She then exhaled slowly and opened her eyes once more. It was one of the very few things she ever did when her mind wasn't in the clear. She only hoped that now, with her focus back on the shirt, she wouldn't hear anymore voices. She didn't care whether they were real or not.

_You cannot deny the harsh truth, Lydia, _the voice spoke again, but this time it wasn't in her head. It was resonating throughout the woods. _He is dead and you know it._

Lydia shook with fear, holding the shirt against her chest. The voice, she couldn't make out who it was. It was just… a whisper – a harsh, metallic whisper.

"No." She rasped out. "No, you're lying."

_Don't be such a fool. _The whisper echoed around the circle of trees surrounding her, becoming louder. _Stiles is dead. That is _his_ blood, on _his_ shirt, which you are holding._

Lydia shook her head violently, dropping the shirt and covering her ears with her hands. "That's not true!" She cried.

_Stiles is dead. Your husband is dead. _Despite covering her ears, she could still hear the whisper, invading her mind.

"Shut up!" She yelled. Her knees gave away, she collapsed to the ground, still blocking her ears, but to no avail did it help. It was futile. It was hopeless.

The voice was still speaking, still torturing her with its words.

_All that danger the two of you went through as teenagers, and even now you are not safe. _There was a crude sense of humour lacing its voice.

"Go away!" She shut her eyes tight.

_Your husband is dead. _

"Leave me alone!"

_Stiles is dead. _The voice grew louder, from a whisper to the sound of a man speaking, a gravel tone edged to its words.

"Stop!" She cried.

_And now! _The man's gravelly voice yelled violently. _You will die too!_

Lydia then opened her eyes, brought her hands down to the ground, grabbed a fistful of leaves and dirt, and did what she did best. She screamed.

Lydia screamed as loud as she could until it completely blocked out the voice of the man. All she could her was her own voice, high-pitched and loud that it woke her up.

She sat bolt upright from bed and screamed until her voice faltered. Taking in her surroundings, she realised she'd been having a bad dream. It was still midnight outside, the moon shining down through the blinds, leaking white lights across the floor in stripes. Her breathing slowly returned to its normal pace.

Lydia closed her eyes in relief and clutched the blankets. She was wearing the same shirt and shorts as she did in the dream.

"Lydia?" A voice croaked right next to her.

She turned sideways and saw Stiles – alive – lying down, covered in blankets, one arm lying across her pillow. He was wearing the same grey shirt as the one in her dream, the hole still visible toward the edge. Stiles looked up at her with squinted, tired eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Lydia caressed her hand across his face softly, and fell back against her pillow. Stiles's hand stroked her hair soothingly.

"It was just a nightmare." She said quietly, lying on her side to face him. Stiles moved his other arm across her waist under the blankets, pulling her close and holding onto her tightly.

He closed his eyes and smiled a tiny bit. "It's alright now." He assured her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Go to sleep."

Lydia drowned in his warmth. She had come to realise over the years how assuring and _safe _she felt when she was with Stiles. Sure, he was still that funny, charismatic, cheerful and goofy teenager she came to fall in love with – Lydia often saw that in him, despite him being her husband now – but there was something he gave her that no other guy ever did: warmth and adoration. In more ways than one, she loved him even more for it. And no nightmare would ever take that away from her.

And so Lydia tucked her arm in-between her chest and his, relaxed under his presence, and fell away into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	2. Kiss

_A/N: Hello! First, a big THANK YOU! This is for all of you awesome people who favourited and followed my first ever Stydia fanfic. _

_I _was_ planning to wait another week before submitting a new one, but I decided that - since you guys were just awesome in making me happy with your favourites and follows - I bring you this!_

_I do apologise in advance that it's short, but I promise that I'll make it up with a slightly longer OR steamy one for the next chapter. You decide. _

_As always, review, favourite, follow!_

_ENJOY! :) :) :) _

* * *

Their first kiss had merely been a cautionary tale, a last resort to stop Stiles from his panic attack. Sure, it was mainly executed for his sake, but Lydia felt something deeper than that beneath the kiss, which was why she had taken longer to open her eyes.

Back then, she dismissed any thought of it going beyond the need to help, but that didn't mean the thought didn't exist. It very much did, generally so.

And Lydia knew that all too well.

* * *

Their second kiss, as opposed to their first, was different to a certain extent. It had been _real_. No, it was not done in the hopes of saving each other. Yes, it happened because they found their way to one another again. For Stiles, it had marked the first time he felt happy beyond anything else. The girl he wanted; the one he had been waiting for since third grade was finally his.

For Lydia, it was different. It meant something much more. To her, the kiss signified her finding her way into his heart again. It meant that he pulled her back after letting her go for Malia. But the problem back then was that she neglected to realize that he had done so in the first place. And so this kiss meant that she was back in his heart.

Only this time, she wasn't leaving.

* * *

Their twentieth kiss had been on their first date. While Stiles opted for a Star Wars movie marathon followed by a heated make-out session, Lydia proposed an evening out to the Beacon Hills Summertime Festival, accompanied by ice cream later on, and _then _a heated make-out session.

Much to his chagrin, and obviously so, Stiles had no choice but to agree with Lydia's option.

But that didn't matter, because he certainly wasn't complaining after ice cream.

* * *

Their one hundred and tenth kiss happened at their wedding. Sure, the entire church was laced with décor, but Lydia's main attention was on her husband, as she was now legally able to call him that.

The very second the pastor had spoken the chosen seven words, Stiles had cupper the back of her head, gingerly, and leaned in. Lydia, placing one hand on his collarbone, mirrored his moment, until the space between them was no longer empty.

As soon as Lydia's lips met Stiles', she knew that that kiss marked a new chapter in their lives; one that she was ready for, one she was eager to open.

* * *

Their one hundred and twenty-fifth kiss had been executed after their first time making love to each other. Lydia had been caught off guard by how easy it was, as if she had been expecting it to happen sooner or later. She suspected that that was most likely the case, since even before they got married the two of them had experienced some intense make-out sessions that almost escalated into something else. But, nonetheless, it was even more amazing that she imagined.

And it was only going to get better from there.

Stiles, on the other hand, had seriously been enjoying himself way too much, as he had been _really_ loud; loud enough for the entire state of Hawaii to hear them. But a sneaking suspicion at a stolen glance at Lydia's face expression told him she didn't mind one bit.

* * *

Their two-thousandth, three hundred and forty-ninth kiss happened as soon as they woke up. It was their twentieth anniversary- twenty years of being married; twenty years of heaven for the both of them.

So, naturally, they did what they did best: engaged in a hot make-out session, that _would've_ escalated into a more thrilling activity, had it not been for their kids barging in, wishing them a happy anniversary, only to be scarred moments later for the rest of their lives.

While Lydia began freaking out over the entire situation, Stiles thought it was pretty funny. Despite being married for twenty years and having kids, some things were still the same.

* * *

Their last kiss had been on Stiles' deathbed, Stiles clutching Lydia's hand with shaking, wrinkled fingers and grey hair, offering the kindest smile he could manage in his final moments. Lydia, in response, had bent down and kissed him one last time, promising to be with him soon.


	3. Chess

_A/N: BEWARE! This is ultra-fluff (if ya know what i mean). Yes, this, my friend, crosses the line of fluff and enters steamy. I was debating whether i should make the next chapter long or steamy and so I went with the latter option. But, I will upload a long one-shot soon enough, but for now: _

_Review. Favourite. Follow. _

_Enjoy! :) :D :) :D :) :D _

* * *

He moved his piece across the board with an intricate, graceful style of his hand- picking it up with the tip of his index finger and thumb, and moving it across the white tile, onto the black, and taking out her pawn.

Lydia smirked.

She knew too well that she stood no chance – if, possibly, any chance at all – against Stiles when it came to chess. It was his game. Of course, that didn't mean she couldn't _try_ and beat him. After all, Lydia did have brains. How hard could it be?

"And the cavalry goes down." Stiles commented with a cheeky smirk, plucking Lydia's pawn off the chessboard and putting it aside along with her other pieces.

Needless to say, her brains weren't playing the right cards at the moment.

But she didn't care; at least not _now_.

As the two of them sat on the floor in the living room, right next to the coffee table, right opposite each other, Lydia made note of her husband's features while he was concentrating. It was the same face he pulled every time he was bent over on a case. Whether it was a normal, police-work file or a supernatural debacle, Lydia came to notice how his eyebrows pinched together, how prominent lines appeared across his forehead, and how his eyes stayed deadly focused on his remaining options; on what move to play next; what move to predict; what move to win.

Lydia loved it. Sure, it was one thing for Stiles to look adorable and dorky at the same time whenever he got excited about something – in Lydia's case, or, would you rather, everyone's case, that happened quite often – but it was another when he was in concentration. In all her life, Lydia had seen some pretty attractive boys- hell, she'd dated two of them, till one turned into a cold-blooded lizard and moved to London, and the other died by a Japanese demon whilst being a former alpha. But this was different. _Stiles_ was different. She had never had a guy treat her the way he did. Ever since their marriage, and even before that, Stiles always adored Lydia, treated her like gold, and cared for her deeply. Granted, he did steer off her with Malia for a while, but she eventually got him back. And she couldn't be happier.

But right now, despite having dated attractive boys, none of them held a candle to Stiles as he broke out of his concentration phase and held her gaze with his own.

His brown eyes sparkled off the sunlight streaming the floor, and he smiled one of his mischievous smiles that Lydia came to love.

"Your move, Lyds." He said, raising his eyebrows and smiling wider in anticipation.

Lydia felt the heat rush to her face as she placed her hand on her king. Admittedly, her brains didn't guarantee her a win for this game, but it did help her play the right cards into getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was Stiles all over her. So, drawing the dumb card, she moved her king onto the open space of the chessboard, knowing well that she was about to lose. But, again, that didn't matter. She _wanted_ to lose.

It only meant that things were about to get better. The robes both of them were wearing were a huge indication, if not any other.

Stiles raised her move with one of his own, moving his final piece and taking her king out of the game.

"Checkmate." He said, smirking triumphantly. "I win."

"Yes, you do." She replied, getting excited.

See, Lydia knew she wasn't going to win; that much was obvious. Stiles was too good of a chess player for her. But that meant she lost. And when it came to this particular version of chess they played, when one of them lost…

"Take it off." Stiles spoke in a husky voice, eager to get started as she was.

Lydia smirked and took off her robe, letting the fabric slide off her shoulders slowly, until all that was left was her bare skin, exposed before Stiles' hungry, darkening, predatory eyes.

"Come collect your prize." Lydia teased softly, seductively.

And Stiles immediately discarded his robe, revealing his bare body, and lunged at her, tackling her to the floor, placing his arms on either side of her, and kissing her wildly. Madly. Fiercely. Hungrily. Passionately.

Lydia smiled in triumph to her inner self.

Yes, she lost, but now, the real game was about to begin.


	4. Boyfriend

_A/N: What's this? A new story? I'm just doing this at random times, aren't I? Well, in any case, here is my upload of chapter four of THE STYDIA BOOK._

_As always, review, favourite, follow. I NEED reviews you guys! This fanfic author who has no life needs to know whether he's doing good or not! Feed my hunger!_

_Enjoy! :D_

_Further update: Sorry for taking this chapter down before. A glitch occurred among uploading chapter 4, but here it is again!_

* * *

Stiles knew all too well that Lydia's history with boyfriends didn't end great. Jackson, her most famous one that everyone – even freshmen – knew, turned out to be a cold-blooded lizard creature who was being controlled by a psychotic teen. But even before that it was pretty clear that Lydia's relationship capacity with him hadn't been perfectly within safe borders. The both of them, in a manner of speaking, were like the sharp edges of knives, slashing against each other and making that horrible noise on impact. But despite all that, they held their ground for a good while. Lydia was, after all, the only one who brought Jackson back from his kanima state.

And only someone without eyes had to deny that he was handsome.

He _really_ was, but all that came at a price: a venomous attitude towards everyone.

Then, after he moved to London, came Aiden. Stiles had hoped with all his might that with Jackson out of the picture, he could finally have his chance with her. But, as usual, those hopes were crushed as soon as the alpha pack moved to town.

At first glance he didn't see what was so great about Aiden. Sure, he was handsome too, but seemed a bit edgy. Well, it was that and the fact that he was a vicious and violent werewolf, who freakishly morphed with his twin whenever the situation called for it.

And yet still, Lydia was dead-set on him.

So, high hopes quickly turned to low blows, at least then.

After the whole debacle with Jennifer and the sacrifices and the Nemeton, Aiden had lost his alpha powers, prior to almost having his neck snapped completely. While this came to be a trump card for Stiles, it didn't prove to be so effective, because Lydia was still with him!

But, at least then he had other things on his mind, other things to worry about. Like not being able to read properly, or not getting enough sleep, or having a dark Japanese spirit posses his body for the better half of the time. So yeah, crush problems were pretty low compared to that.

Besides, it was around that time when he started to develop a relationship with Malia. It was also around that time, he noted with part-interest and part-glee, when he had finally gotten some _action_, generally speaking. Granted, doing it in a basement of a mental hospital wasn't the best way to commemorate his first time, but it had been enjoyable no less.

And then he started dating her. Around that point, Stiles' long-standing crush on Lydia had dissipated, but he still felt strongly for her, just in a different way. He hadn't thought it was possible back then, to fall for someone else. But it happened, and it happened with Malia. So, set aside from that, they were officially in a relationship. And it stayed like that until things got a bit complicated.

Eventually, they both agreed that what they had between them wasn't the same as it once was, and so they broke up. It took him a while to get over it. After all, trying to walk away from your first breakup with no wounds was a bit hard to do. He would know.

Slowly but gradually, his feelings for Lydia came back again. Except this time, and this where he really had the trump card, she had no boyfriend. But that didn't mean he acted on his feeling immediately. No, he waited. Like always. It wouldn't be fair to just ask Lydia out on a date, or tell her that he loved her again. It wouldn't be fair to her.

So he waited. And he didn't mind it one bit. Eventually, he got closer with her. Throughout every obstacle they faced, it brought them closer together. And finally – oh man, finally – the day came where they became so close that their relationship as friends graduated to the next level. And since that day, Stiles could not have been happier.

He had finally got the girl he had a crush on since third grade. And she returned his feelings with just as much as love and affection. From then on, Stiles noted two things. One, his relationship with Lydia was different to that of Jackson's or Aiden's. What he shared with her was more of pure love and care than lust and fun. It had more to do with knowing each other all too well, and waiting to see the other after class, and having tons of fun on Friday nights- just being with her made him happier than he had ever been.

The other thing he had noticed, and this bugged him quite a bit, was that he wasn't exactly… hot, compared to her past two boyfriends. Nor did he have any supernatural abilities. What he drove to school didn't even look cool, but hey! He loved that jeep like it was family!

But this realisation kept getting at him every time he was with her. Lydia's line of boyfriends had a lot to offer, and he barely had half of that.

But there was one thing that he gave her that none of the others could ever put a price on: true love.

Stiles loved Lydia more than he loved his jeep, and that said quite a lot. She meant so much to him, a bit like how Scott meant so much to him, like a brother. Scott _was_ his brother. Lydia was his girlfriend. And Stiles was her boyfriend. He was proud to say that, very proud.

So, as he walked down the hallway of school, the noise of students' nonchalant chatter resonating off the walls, he immediately saw her at her locker amid the moving sea of bodies.

He smiled. Lydia noticed him and returned his smile with kindness, something she rarely gave away. Stiles walked up to her and cupped her cheeks with his hands, holding her with care and looking into her brown eyes with such adoration and comfort that he leaned in and kissed her deeply.

Deep in the sense that his lips massaged hers; deep in the sense that the amount of time they spent kissing rendered a few stares from random students who passed by, wondering why Lydia Martin, popular and beautiful and smart, was kissing _Stiles_ _Stiliniski_, of all people. Didn't she have better taste? Her last couple of boyfriends should've justified that!

But Stiles didn't care. And evidently, neither did she, because she kissed back with just as much affection and love, placing her hands on his arms. When they pulled away, Lydia caught her breath and looked at him with part-amusement, part-hunger for more.

"What was that for?" She asked, flicking her eyes from his pair down to his lips every now and then.

"Just wanted to kiss you." Stiles replied with ease, a shrug of his shoulders to add a nice touch.

Lydia, in return, looked bemused, as if not expecting such a casual response. "Well, don't stop there." She gestured toward the janitor's closet to their left with a quirk of her eyebrows and naughty smirk. "How about we continue?"

Stiles laughed in response and hugged her tightly, breathing in her scent of flowers and perfume and clean skin. _Lydia's scent_, he thought giddily.

"Thanks for allowing me to be your boyfriend." He said, slightly muffled from where his mouth was pressed against her hair.

Lydia took a minute to respond, and even though Stiles couldn't see her, he could tell she was trying to process what he meant. But she eventually let it go.

"Thanks for allowing _me_ to be your girlfriend." She responded.

Lydia pulled away and smiled at him, leaning in and kissing him on the nose. She looked back at the janitor's closet, and then at him once again. "We only have twenty minutes before lunch is over." A naught smirk played on her lips. "Let's not waste anymore time."

And she took him by the hand and led him to the janitor's closet.

Stiles, upon this, grinned triumphantly. What he had said to her spoke more about how he felt than anything else. He was genuinely thankful that Lydia chose to be with him, and he was more than grateful that she hadn't broken up with him just yet. He didn't have the world to offer, much unlike those other guys she had dated, but he did give her love, and by this point, that was more than anything any other guy could every buy her.

So, while he _was_ worried that Lydia would compare him to her old boyfriends, put two-and-two together, and dump him for a better-looking guy, the fact that she was taking him to the janitor's closet for a make-out session told him otherwise.

Being Lydia Martin's boyfriend, Stiles realised with glee, was the best thing that ever happened to him.


	5. Carnival

_A/N: ATTENTION! Before reading this, I'd just like to say that this particular one-shot is what I like to call a project. Meaning, an extended Stydia one-shot- something of which I put extra effort into, hence project. Otherwise, please do enjoy this as much as you can, and as always: _

_Review. Favourite. Follow. These three factors make my life look as if I have one to begin with. _

_Enjoy :) :D :) :D _

* * *

Neon lights illuminated the red evening sky of Beacon Hills. Different rides and stations choked the area, accompanied by excited people, eager to kick off the evening in the best way possible.

Stiles had to practically beg Lydia to go with him to the Autumn-Fest Carnival. _Everyone_ was going, and he was more than ecstatic – more than usual, mind you – about going there with his girlfriend. Yeah, that's right! Lydia was now his girlfriend. Naturally, Stiles processed this as a gift from heaven above, but even set apart from that, he always knew his heart would eventually return to her. Lydia was, after all and always will be, the love of his life- since third grade to specify.

So, in regards to all of that, he was pumped to enjoy the evening out with her, going on carnival rides, winning a few games, _finally_ being able to go on the love boat for once, and just spending time with her. Oh yeah, and the making out prior to the love boat of course.

Lydia, on the contrary, didn't exactly share his enthusiasm. Stiles had a fleeting suspicion that she generally didn't like carnivals, or more specifically, didn't like roller coaster rides. Her face had whitened even more than usual when he told her about them.

"You'd have to kill me first before dragging me on one of those." She had commented earlier that day.

"It's not all bad!" Stiles tried to reason. "Think of it as a rush of energy. Lyds, trust me on this, you wont regret it."

"I think I'll take my chances with a no-show."

"But I– "

"Stiles, no." And that was it.

After a few months of dating, and even before that, Stiles – or, practically everyone in that case – knew Lydia to be a stubborn person, and damn could she stay true to her decisions.

So, without any other options left, Stiles rolled out the big guns: puppy dog eyes.

One thing he learnt whilst dating was that whenever he pulled the puppy dog eyes, Lydia couldn't resist, no matter how hard-core she was with the decisions she made. Much to his benefit, Stiles had a tendency to use it on her on more than one occasion.

Eventually, one thing led to another, and here they were, walking over to the first station Stiles had planned.

"High striker?" Lydia asked with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, staring at the elongated piece of equipment

"Yeah." Stiles confirmed, looking at her with a bemused expression. "To see how strong you are."

"I see that." She commented. "But why this game?"

"Because I want to prove how strong I am for you."

Lydia stared at him.

"What?" He asked incredulously. "A guy can't show off his guns to his girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "No." She said in a reasoning voice, gesturing with a sway of her arms for him to try it out. "Not unless all he has is a pea-shooter." She muttered.

"I heard that." Stiles retorted before walking up.

The bar was labelled off at different intervals, according to height, 10 being the lowest, and 100 being the highest. The man running the station gave one glance at Stiles before smirking sceptically and handing him the hammer.

Before hitting the target, Stiles pointed to Lydia and winked. "You just watch, Lydia Martin, as your super-strong boyfriend reaches one hundred."

* * *

So he ended up getting 30.

Granted, it wasn't the best way to commemorate his impressive physique to Lydia, who, throughout the entire round, smiled a wide smile and clapped her hands in mock encouragement, clearly enjoying this, much to his chagrin.

But, on the bright side, he did end up winning a stuffed brown bear wearing a red pointed hat, and holding a cushion heart with the words 'I love you' across it. He immediately gave it to Lydia, who smiled warmly and rewarded him with a deep kiss. At least that wasn't a total fail.

Up next on the agenda was the Ferris wheel. Now, this was a ride where nothing could possibly go wrong, right? At least that's what Stiles assumed.

Oh, was he wrong!

He had momentarily forgotten that heights weren't exactly his best friend – but not his worst enemy – and so it was only when they were half way up did he start to feel a little queasy.

"You feeling okay?" Lydia asked, staring at him inquisitively.

Stiles held onto her hand tightly and swallowed. "Yeah," He spoke a bit shakily, "Just not a big fan of heights."

At this, Lydia laughed. It was one of those laughs that complemented her aquiline features, her flawless face, and perfect smile. It was one of those laughs that completely engulfed Stiles, and made him forget about heights.

She nestled his hand with hers, squeezing reassurance into him. "Stiles, don't worry about it." She nodded her head comfortingly and continued to smile. "Just hold onto my hand, okay?"

Stiles nodded and grinned a tiny bit; happy that she was seemingly enjoying this, though a sneaking suspicion told him it was more from his stupidity than the actual carnival. He scooted over toward her and laced his right arm across her shoulder, pressing his left one into hers across their laps.

Everything at that moment felt so peaceful; so comforting; so _right. _In fact, he didn't even seem to mind the height anymore, which was fine by him. As long as Lydia was by his side, things were perfect.

But they eventually came back down.

* * *

The food was pretty decent by Stiles' standards. Nothing set off a kick-ass weekend better than a foot-long meatball sub topped with extra gravy, sided with a large coke and fries, and for Lydia… a salad.

Stiles had to make a mental note about eating healthier before biting off a huge piece of meatball with gravy spreading to the side of his mouth. Lydia noticed this and giggled; reaching her arm over the table they sat on, and wiped the corner on his lips with a napkin.

He grinned in return, knowing well that he must've looked stupid. But he didn't care; he wanted to look stupid in front of her.

As far as the topic of love went, Stiles was pretty sure it made people do weird things. His case was no less of an understatement.

"So," Lydia said while poking a piece of cabbage off her plate, "What's next on the list?"

Stiles shrugged. "That depends."

"On?"

"On whether you want to get the roller coaster ride done with."

Lydia blanched.

Stiles smirked.

"We are _not_ going on a roller coaster, Stiles." She declared, cocking her eyebrows up and pursing her lips in a pointed manner.

Stiles' smirk widened. "Keep telling yourself that." He muttered before going for another bite.

In response, Lydia narrowed her eyes on his, holding it with a firm intensity. "Oh yeah, I will. Because I _wont_ being going on one."

"Or because you will." Stiles commented in a mockingly observed manner. "Whichever way works for you."

At this, Lydia glared and threw a piece of lettuce in his direction. Stiles dodged to the side, missing the greenery by a few centimetres and flashing a cheeky grin at Lydia. She stuck her tongue out in response and got up to throw away her finished salad. Stiles looked down at his food and noticed that he hadn't even eaten half of his fries, much less his sub.

"How about we try something else first?" Lydia asked as she sat back down.

Stiles considered this thought. Yes, he really wanted to get her on a coaster as soon as possible, but considering he was eating right before the ride, he decided it would be best not to throw up on everyone. Which raised an idea to mind.

He returned his gaze at Lydia with a suggestive look. "What do you say about rock climbing?"

* * *

Rock climbing was nothing like Stiles expected it to be.

What he was anticipating was a fun competition between Lydia and him to see who could get to the top first. What he didn't expect was finding himself a few meters below her, struggling to get a hold of that _stupid_ rock which was too small to get a grip on, while also trying not to get distracted by the amazing view of her ass.

That wasn't even fair!

Stiles was ninety per cent sure that, had he been above her, or positioned at a different angle where he didn't drool over the sight above him, he would already be at the top. Leave it to Lydia to wear nothing but a shirt and short shorts that, in general, complemented her smooth legs, but at the moment, a particular region of her body that was stopping Stiles from moving all together.

So of course, Lydia won.

* * *

"It doesn't bother you that you've lost two games so far?" Lydia asked, holding a free t-shirt she won from rock climbing.

Stiles eyed the shirt with a hint of not-so-subtle jealousy and continued to walk on, her hand in his. "Not when I'm allowing you to win half of them."

"Is it really allowing? Because I really don't think staring at my ass a way of allowing me to win." She turned her head sideways to face him and smiled teasingly. "I'd say I beat you without even trying."

Stiles stared at her. "Shut up."

Lydia's smile grew even wider. Stiles noticed a photo booth to their left as they past by different stations, an idea came to mind. He squeezed her hand and pulled her toward it.

"Come on." He said urgently. "Let's go do something without needing to win anything."

* * *

"I think we actually look pretty hot in the last one." Lydia commented while she examined the four pictures they took.

The first one was of them sticking their tongues out and beaming at the camera, Lydia holding two fingers behind Stiles' head. The second one showed Lydia encircling her hands around his left bicep and smiling with her amazing set of white teeth, and Stiles attempting to look tough by not smiling. The third one held Stiles with a mouthful of Lydia's hair and grinning his idiotic grin, and Lydia laughing at the moment. Finally, the fourth one was of their heads touching together, nose-to-nose, but not kissing. Both of them had big, happy smiles on their faces. It was a picture that signified how happy _Stiles_ felt that he was finally her boyfriend, that _she_ was finally his girlfriend. It captured more of how he felt about Lydia than anything else, which is why they got two copies of the photos. That way, they both had these memories to hold on to.

"So now that we have rock climbing out of the way, what do you say about that rollercoaster ride?"

Lydia looked as if she pondered this question, but Stiles knew she was only doing it in a fake manner. "I say it's still a no-go."

"Well, what if I say I have an ultimatum for you, in regards to the rollercoaster?"

"I'd say you'd have to be really smart to make a deal with me about a ride like that."

"Then, generally speaking, how about if you go on the rollercoaster ride with me," Stiles looked around the carnival to find something. Then, at that moment, his eyes landed on a particular station that etched a smile on his face. "I'll do something in return for you."

At this, Lydia looked interested, genuinely interested. She turned and faced him directly, swinging her arms around Stiles' neck and looking at him with sceptical eyes. "What exactly will you do if I go on a rollercoaster with you?"

Stiles gestured toward the dunk tank a few meters onward. "I'll volunteer to go on that tank, and you can get me drenched."

Lydia turned her head around to face the station, and Stiles could tell that from the widening of her eyes, she was on board with it.

She turned back immediately towards him and held his look with a silent fierce one of her own. She leaned in and brought her face to his, her lips brushing his pair as she spoke quietly. "If I find out your lying, Stiles, I'll drag you over to that dunk tank myself."

Stiles couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, despite feeling intimidated. Lydia was pretty scary whenever she looked serious. He held up his hand, as if in a pledge. "You have my word, Lydia Martin."

And so Lydia took his hand and they walked over to the rollercoaster ride, Stiles practically prancing along.

* * *

The rollercoaster – the only one in the entire carnival – was pretty massive, so its size made up for its number. Different tracks wounded over and across each other, intersecting at some parts and separating at others. The line wasn't too terribly big, so the both of them made it to the seats in no time.

As soon as they buckled up, Lydia gave one nervous look behind them before holding on tight.

Stiles noticed this and felt bad about himself. He neglected to consolidate her before they got on. After all, she did the same for him on the Ferris wheel.

"Hey, look at me." He said, gently cupping her face with his right hand and softly bringing her attention to him. "It'll be okay, alright? Remember, just close your eyes and think of it as a rush of wild energy."

Lydia offered a grateful smile for him making things slightly better, but it quickly vanished with a measured look and pursed lips; a common thing she did when she made a point. "If you throw up on me, I'm using your clothes to wipe it off."

Stiles looked down at his chinos and red V-neck t-shirt. Honestly, his clothes could've served an even lesser purpose than a rag cloth. At least it's what he assumed.

But all thoughts were immediately dismissed as soon as the rollercoaster began to move. First, it veered forward at a slow pace, Lydia shutting her eyes and holding onto Stiles' hand. Then, as they ascended upward, she tightened her grip on him, still shutting her eyes, as Stiles' noticed with interest. Finally, as they reached the peak of the ride, Lydia held on so tightly that Stiles was sure she would break his fingers. It took serious power to hold in the pain, because he damn sure felt like screaming like a little girl. He didn't even know Lydia was this strong. But, yet again, all thoughts were vanished as the rollercoaster began to move down. Stiles only had moments to get a high view of the entire carnival; the different stations positioned at all corners of the area, people milling around and chatting nonchalantly, some woman getting a score higher than 30 on the High Striker. Steroids, Stiles assumed. And then they fell.

The rollercoaster descended downward with such force that it knocked any sense of pain from Stiles' body, and replaced it with adrenaline and energy. He screamed and hollered in excitement, throwing his left hand up in the air. Lydia, on the contrary, had opened her eyes as soon as they went down and screamed as loud as she could- not a banshee level screech, but a scream that suggested energy. Her metal-vice grip on his hand loosened as they wound through different tracks, moving in a wave of twists and turns. Great gusts of wind blew in their faces as they continued to travel at high speed throughout the entire ride, Stiles feeling like his face would peel off. In all that time, that time of amazing chaos, and kick-ass adrenaline, he could hear Lydia as she hollered in excitement, clearly enjoying the ride as much as he did.

Stiles smiled, feeling proud. He got Lydia to overcome her fear of rollercoasters, and have a good time whilst in the process. But his triumphant smile soon vanished, as he knew what this now meant: the dunk tank.

* * *

"You know, when I said I would go on the dunk tank if you went on the rollercoaster, I didn't actually mean it." Stiles said frantically, trying hard to get out of this as best as he could.

Lydia, much to his chagrin, remained dead-set on him getting soaked with cold water. "Forget it, Stiles. A deal's a deal." And she continued to pull his arm toward the station.

"Lydia, wait, wait, wait." Stiles said, and turned her around to face him. He nestled his hands against her soft cheeks, brushing them with the pad of his thumbs out of habit. "Let's just try and focus on the main deal, here."

She raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "Which is?"

"That you overcame your fear of rollercoasters. That you enjoyed yourself." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "And that I was with you the whole way through."

Lydia closed her eyes and put her left hand on his arm. In the dim-blue light of the sky above, her strawberry blonde hair, which fell around her head in curls, made her look even more beautiful than usual. "Stiles, I know. I _did_ overcome my fear, and I _did_ have a good time." She leaned in and kissed him on the nose. "And thank you for that." She opened her eyes, and Stiles could see a devious smirk playing on her lips. "But I want to make it better by throwing you in a tank of water." She turned back around and pulled his arm forward. "Now, shut up and come on."

Stiles groaned in protest before following.

* * *

"This doesn't look too safe." Stiles informed Lydia, who was at the front of the line, tossing the ball between her hands.

Stiles shuffled uncomfortably on the seat above the tank of water, eyeing it with caution, as if it was filled with sharks.

"Alrighty then." Said the man running the station. "On your mark."

Lydia stopped tossing the ball and held it firmly in her right hand.

"Lydia, wait." Stiles warned, putting his hand forward in front of him.

"Get set!"

She squinted her eyes in concentration, and placed her elbow in front of her, her throwing arm in an L-shaped position at the back.

"Let's be rational about this. Lyds?"

"Go!"

Lydia threw the ball as hard as she could. Stiles only had a moment to blink before the ball his the target to his left… and he fell in.

Cold water engulfed him all over, soaking his clothes and pressing the water into his skin like cold knives. He immediately swam up to the surface, and found a triumphant Lydia laughing her ass off.

Stiles chided himself to never make a deal with her ever again; at least not one that bet his ass on the line.

* * *

They walked aimlessly throughout the carnival, spotting different stations and suggesting going on them, but after the evening's events, Stiles could tell that they both had had enough. But it was still fun, no less. Dear God, it was so much fun. Stiles knew that going to the Autumn-Fest Carnival with Lydia would be butt-loads of fun, but he never expected it to go quite like this. Granted, in almost every game, he was on the losing end. And for the better half of it, he was sure that Lydia had nothing to do with it. Maybe he just sucked at carnival games? More to the point, he couldn't think of a better way to spend his Saturday evening. Stiles knew all too well that moments like these, where the girl you've had a crush on since third grade was now finally your girlfriend, only came once in forever.

But he beat the system.

He got Lydia. And he was never going to let her go… Unless, of course, she dumped his sorry ass, which would most likely be the case.

As they passed by random people, holding hands without a care in the world, Stiles noticed one particular station that they hadn't been on yet; that _he_ hadn't been on yet.

"Lydia?" He asked.

"Hmm?" She responded, looking sideways at him with a gentle smile.

Stiles pointed at the ride towards the far left. "Can that be our last one?"

Lydia followed his gaze, and, upon seeing what he was pointing at, smiled a bit wider. Stiles loved it.

"Definitely." She said.

And they both walked over to The Love Boat with glee.

* * *

The boat they sat on moved a steady, slow pace- perfect for the both of them to sit back and enjoy each other's company.

Stiles had his arm draped across Lydia's shoulder, and she rested her head gently against his collarbone. He tried to imagine viewing them at the front of the boat, seeing a young couple intoxicated with love for each other. If his mind's eye moved closer, it could see that, beneath that veil of care and affection, there were scars. Blisters. Wounds. Marks from a past consumed with fear, danger, grief, and loss. Marks that faded over time, but were still prominent, like tattoos; wearing their skin.

Two years ago, Stiles never would've imagined this image; never would've thought it as a possibility. Lydia Martin had been the school's popular icon, the girl who threw the best parties in Beacon Hills, and was flawless in everything. And Stiles? He was a mere no-body, a teenage boy with a massive crush on a girl who was once from a different world, a girl who never regarded him with anything as so much as a small glance.

And now? Now, they were dating. Now, they were inseparable. Their worlds had collided in the most unexpected ways, and throughout all of that, many twists and turns had hit them like… well, like rollercoasters, separating them in different directions, until they were lost. But eventually, they found their way back to each other; eventually, he found his way back to her.

This, Stiles realised, brought a thought to mind.

"Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

Stiles hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether it was a good idea to say it. He didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. But he said it anyway. "I love you."

Lydia quickly sat up straight and looked at him, searching his eyes with such intensity that he was sure he would get lost in them. After a moment, and his words finally sunk in, Lydia's look softened, and she kissed him on the lips.

But she didn't pull back.

Neither of them did. Stiles shuffled his body sideways so he could get a better angle, and cupped her cheeks with his hands. Her lips moved and grazed softly against his, spreading a sensation of warmth and comfort and love for this girl – this beautiful and smart and amazing girl – all over his body, to the tips of his being. His thumbs brushed her soft cheeks soothingly, but not only from habit this time. And when Lydia's tongue roamed around his bottom lip, he couldn't help but let out a low, gradual moan. Apparently Lydia must've loved it, because she grabbed a fistful of his hair and deepened their kiss.

They stayed like that until neither of them could no longer breathe.

When they pulled apart, Lydia gave him one of her most genuine, kind, and beautiful smiles that Stiles rarely saw. Although a recollection of past memories regarding those smiles indicated that she only saved those for him. And he loved her even more for it.

So, when they regained the position they were originally in, Lydia's head resting gently against his collarbone, and Stiles' arm across her shoulder, he said one last thing.

"Thanks for not leaving me."

Stiles heard Lydia let out a soft air of laughter, holding onto the stuffed bear in her purse before responding, and what she had said made him happy beyond anything else.

"I'll never leave you, Stiles"

And they rode off into the night in comfortable silence.


	6. Loss

_A/N: Wassup! Because you gracious saints were kind enough to review, favourite and follow The Stydia Book from previous chapters, I give you this one. A 24 hour update! Now ain't that something big! As always, REVIEW, FAVOURITE, FOLLOW! It seems like when people read these one-shots, they execute one of the three options, but leave the other two out. Come on, lovely creatures! Do all three, pweaasee?_

_Enjoy! :D :D :D :D_

* * *

It started with the phone call from Scott's mom, Melissa, from the hospital. Lydia only had time to sense it – as part of her banshee qualities – before she rushed into their room and saw Stiles sitting on the bed; dropped the phone from his shaking hands, tears streaming down his face as he blankly stared at the floor.

She rushed over to him and pulled him in a tight hug, hoping it would be an indicator of reassurance. But she knew too well that that was wishful thinking. How could he possibly feel reassured right now? How could he possibly feel _anything_, right after being given news of his father's death?

Try as she might, but no matter what she did, Lydia could not get her husband to stop shaking, to stop staring into open space, to stop disconnecting himself from the real world.

Stiles' father – the only family he had left – was taken away from him. Forever.

* * *

The funeral had gone by in a blur. Through Lydia's eyes, it had been a mix of grey skies and white chapels, black suits and grieving hugs. The only part she did remember with clear consciousness was holding his hand during the burial, squeezing whatever hope and affection she could possibly muster into him, but to little avail did that task prove effective. Stiles had stood beside her the whole time, wearing the same gaunt expression he had worn the day he heard the news.

His black suit stood out as a prominent colour in contrast to his pale skin, which, under the grey sky, looked even paler than usual. Lydia had a feeling that it wasn't just from the sky, and more from what was happening as they stood there, watching the coffin be lowered into the ground.

Still, Stiles wore no expression other than that oblique look of loss and numbness.

* * *

They had been sleeping soundlessly throughout the night, moonlight glowing through the blinds from the windows, and casting stripes of white light across the floor, when suddenly, Stiles woke up, screaming.

It had taken Lydia a couple of minutes to calm him down and hold him tightly, till Stiles' screams slowly ceased, and was replaced by that awful shaking he once had before. Only then, Stiles had been under a near-catatonic state of depression, unable to feel anything, do anything. Now, he cried. Now, he let out every ounce of emotion and feeling into the tears that spilled down his cheeks, into the shake of his shoulders; into the whimpers and sniffles emitted from him until he collapsed in exhaustion, finally soaking into a drowsy sleep. And in all that time, Lydia held him tight, tight to not let go; tight to never let go.

In all that time, Lydia sat by his side, offering her everything to him, in the sole promise of being there for Stiles, being his rock in this tornado of tragedy.

Soon enough, Lydia too fell asleep, her arms tangled around Stiles' body, and Stiles hugging onto her for dear life.

* * *

He began to smile more. Whether it was a scenario regarding a normal day and Lydia making one of her smart-mouthed comments on a particular subject, or a tricky situation involving her brains, Stiles began to smile more. He knew at some parts throughout what had happened, she was only trying to cheer him up, make him feel better. On the contrary, he also knew that at other times, when she wasn't even trying to be funny, and just being Lydia, he _would_ laugh, or smile.

And she would love it.

It meant that he was coming back; that her dorky, hyperactive, smart, kind, and full-of-life husband was slowly leaving that void of dark emptiness, and she missed him. So much.

* * *

They had both collapsed on the bed, lying side-by-side, holding hands, and struggling to catch their breaths after endless hours of lovemaking. The thing that surprised Lydia most was how much she missed it. How much she missed _him_. She hadn't realised that, in that horrible time regarding his dad, there had been a deep longing inside of her to get back that spark between them- a spark that wasn't just sex and lust, but true love.

But she had it now; had it so well that Stiles was right next to her, whispering words of adoration in her ear and holding onto her tightly.

Lydia came to understand that deep loss could only be mended by time and affection, both of which were given to Stiles.

In that moment, where Stiles and Lydia were lying side-by-side, naked to each other's eyes, Lydia felt happy. Happy, that her husband was back to normal; happy to have him in her life.


	7. Content

_A/N: So, this I would say is a _particular_ one-shot, which I wrote all in one go- almost all of the the one-shots I write are in one go, but this one is DIFFERENT. What makes it so different from the other Stydia __one-shots that I've written__ is that it has a more serious edge to it. Prior to the fact that this was originally a separate one-shot outside The Stydia Book, I decided to post it as a new chapter anyway. _

_REVIEW. FAVOURITE. FOLLOW. All three if you must... please do. Please. _

_Enjoy! :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D _

* * *

The soft patter of raindrops is the only sound that echoes throughout the silence of the house. All activities, which what is normally carried out as daily routines, are abruptly stopped amid the calmness of their atmosphere.

Stiles and Lydia do not care for any type of work today. They bask in the warmth of their paradise.

It is originally Stiles' idea to initiate this proposition, and only when Lydia agrees wholeheartedly to it do they disseminate it to their household chores, leaving them abandoned for one day, every month. What substitutes as a perdurable task from the jobs they work at in the town miles away is the simple tranquillity of doing nothing.

Literally.

Whether it is lounging around on the couch in the living room, or in the warm comforts of their bed upstairs, they do not exude even an infinitesimal ounce of energy into any sort of occupancy.

They leave it for the next day.

As boring as it may seem, what surprises both Stiles and Lydia is how comforting it feels. Comforting, in a different manner to what they are normally used to. After all, they had not felt such easiness until they had made the big choice. Running away from home, running away from them was a tough decision to make; regardless of the benefits it would bestow on them. Escaping their old lives would not have been their final card to draw, had things not gotten out of control. Just the mere memories of their haunted past in Beacon Hills has an uneasy edge to the way they function, and so they tend not to think about it, as painful as it may be

Stiles would _like_ to remember Scott, his best friend. His brother. He would like to remember his dad, just as much as Lydia would like to remember Kira and Allison, who, on the matter, has been deceased for a long time now, but stills reopens a wound in her skin. It may not be visible to the naked eyes, but to Stiles, it's as clear as the white of her skin. And in any case, remembering them makes the wounds even worse.

But, what is done had to be done. Stiles and Lydia had to let go of the tether holding them on to their old lives, and they fell into oblivion until they found a new one. Sure, they did it when they were teenagers, and living off part-time jobs and extra shifts had not been easy, but slowly yet assuredly, they found real jobs with good pays. And, as the loose threads of their lives intertwined together until it formed an intricate fabric, they got married.

It wasn't a big ordeal to begin with; they kept it quiet. Granted, it was not the opulent wedding filled with wine glasses and rose petals that Lydia fantasized it would be, but just being able to seal her relationship with Stiles with just one prominent kiss had been enough to keep her happy. So, they eloped. That was it; nothing to be said, nothing to be done.

And now, five years later, here they are. Stiles and Lydia live in a reasonably big house outside the tumultuous town life of Seattle, where activities of civilisation are condensed down to the waking movements of their fingers, hands, toes, and feet. It may be in the middle of nowhere, but to them, it is somewhere.

So, for the whole day, as is a tradition of sorts, the couple live their lives bereft of work, calling in a sick day, or whatever the case may be. Reason being, they need a sense of relaxation in their lives. As needy as it sounds, it seems as if they have to have that essential part of peace that makes the decision they made just a little bit more worth it. And, in spite of everything that had been thrown at them during their teenage years; in spite of everything and everyone they had lost, it _is_ worth it.

There may be a longing that burns a dark hole in their heart every day, waiting to be filled with the happiness that only friendship can fill, but it is not enough to keep Stiles and Lydia from continuing on with life; a life they tried so hard to grab onto, despite the price it came with.

So, as Lydia stares vacantly out the window of their bedroom, watching with no sense of interest as the lone droplets of rain race down the framed glass, she feels his arms circle her waist, pulling her flush against the front of his body. Stiles breathes her in and closes his eyes, exhaling quietly. It is a scent he has come to be familiar with, as familiar as his own clothes. It brings him comfort and security.

She rests her hands against his arms and hums contently, leaning her head back against his collarbone. And for the rest of the while, the two of them stay fixed in that position, staring at the rain that pours down on their house in a continuous pattern.

Life may not be as good as Stiles and Lydia had hoped it would be- where friends and family accompanied them. No, it may not be as good as anything. But it's good to them. They are together in their own secluded part of the world; they are together in their own happiness.

For a long time it has been, and a long time it will be, Stiles and Lydia are happy.

Stiles and Lydia are content.


	8. Baby

_A/N: Hey there! Yeah, so umm first off I'd like to give a special shout out to Katherine March! This one's for you, bae! Hope ya enjoy it!_

_As always, and guys, like actually please do this? pweasse? pwwweaaseee? Review. Favourite. Follow. _

_I love you guys like Stiles loves Lydia._

* * *

Stiles never knew that taking care of a baby would be so hard.

Why the hell did he ever think it was easy? Who has _ever_ thought of it as easy?

Evidently, he did. Or at least when Lydia was pregnant. Those nine months gave him plenty of time to prepare for the worst, or, would you rather, prepare for the weirdest. But, much to his stupidity, Stiles assumed the whole thing would be a walk in the park. And it was! _Oh yeah_, it _was_ a walk in the park… Hell's park.

For the past nine days (basically as soon as the baby got home) both Stiles had Lydia had been deprived of sleep. It was hard enough on Lydia's part to go through all that pain during the giving-birth procedure, and Stiles knew this from the way she had almost crushed is hand, but to go through this as well? That was just unfair!

And she knew it. Stiles could tell from the dark circle under her eyes and the rumples in her clothes from sleepless nights that she wasn't appreciating this big break after nine months of mood swings, cravings for the weirdest foods, and special care only given from Stiles. Although, the way she had threatened to hit him with the baby as soon as she 'pushed it out' told him she didn't share his grace on his help.

But Stiles did his best to give her whatever rest they could afford. In between diaper changing and lullaby singing, it seemed they had hardly found the time to even share a chaste kiss.

So as Stiles now held their baby girl in his arms, cradling her to his shoulders and moving her in a rhythmic pattern, he realised how much it took from him to get this far. The both of them had had four years of fun being a married couple, and even more before that as just boyfriend and girlfriend, but here they were, taking care of their new baby – Allison, they decided to name her in honour of their deceased friend – and not getting any sleep. Deep down inside, Stiles wondered if it was all worth it; if it was all worth _this_.

"How's she doing?" Asked Lydia, who stood in the doorway, folding her arms over her robe. Even in the dim gold light of the nursery, dark circles of fatigue were still pressed and prominent under her eyes, like a compressed tattoo.

Stiles gave her an appreciating smile and replied. "Better than before, which means progress." He looked at the baby. "For the both of us."

Up close, she had the softest cheeks, a small round head and dark eyelashes that curled at the tips, just like Lydia had. Allison, upon awaking to the new world, also had dark brown eyes like Stiles, but the same nose as her mom. In more ways than one, their baby daughter shared only the best qualities combined from the both of them. Not to toot his own horn, but dark brown eyes with curling eyelashes? Every guy would be all over her by the time she reached middle school. Speaking of which, now that Stiles was theoretically a father now, he had to play the 'over-protective dad' role, didn't he? It's what most guys did when they had daughters.

Well considering he had faced off with a pack of alphas, a dark Japanese spirit, and was married to a banshee, boy trouble would be nothing compared to that.

"Who would've thought we'd make it this far?" She said, walking into the room and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Stiles closed his eyes momentarily and basked in the feel of her lips on his skin. "What do you mean?"

"Us having a kid. Being married." She looked at him with longing eyes. "Being alive."

He smiled softly and leaned in closer, kissing her forehead. "We're here now." Stiles looked at her. "And we'll make it farther."

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few moments. Stiles then looked at the circles around her eyes.

"Get some sleep." He said. "You need it."

"What about you?"

"I'll find time later."

Stiles knew she couldn't muster any energy into arguing about it, so she smiled appreciatively, kissed him on the lips and walked out.

As for Stiles, he stood there in the middle of their daughter's nursery, rocking her to sleep and wondering to himself how he got this lucky. He was married to the love of his life, he now had a beautiful daughter, and he could already see a bright future ahead.

Sure, they had to go through a lot; endure a lot back when they were teenagers, but as Stiles realised that it only brought them to where they were now, he realised that yes, it was all worth it; yes, it was all worth _this_.

He never felt so happy.


	9. Sick

_A/N: Once upon a time, I envisioned this and wrote it as a fanfic. The end. _

_Leave a review, follow my story, favourite it too! _

_Enjoy dis!_

* * *

Stiles was sick.

He made sure that was evident. His hair, which was usually styled up, was pasted to his forehead, tousled. His complexion was not its usual colour; his skin was paler than it should've been. He even looked tired, the aftereffects of working too much and resting too little.

And despite all that, he still wanted to work.

Lydia chided him several times that day that, given his current state, work was out of the question. In fact, it was the whole idea of work that made him sick in the first place. Had he spent less time at the police station and not working with officers who had the flu, he wouldn't be in this situation. But did he listen? No, and once again, his stubbornness overpowered Lydia's advise.

But that didn't matter, not when the tables were turned on him.

Lydia had to chide herself too for enjoying this just a tiny bit. Her husband was sick in bed, and while she was doing her best to nurse him back to health, she was feeling just a tiny bit triumphantly smug about it.

Karma was indeed a pain in the ass, only this time she didn't mind it all that much.

But that didn't mean things were going so well on her perspective.

Throughout the entire day, she had caught Stiles sneaking out of their room _twice _to work on the new case that was brought in a few days ago. Then, if that wasn't enough, he ended up arguing with her about the type of medicine he needed to take. Stiles had it in his head that the raspberry flavoured cough syrups tasted like gasoline, and that the grape favoured ones were more accurate to its fruit. Lydia had protested that it didn't matter how it _tasted_, so as long as it made him better. But, as such was expected, Stiles ended up arguing about that as well.

Needless to say, things soon escalated into a debate on different types of flavoured cough syrups, and while Lydia mentally scolded herself for getting distracted by his stupidity, she also claimed that, in her defence, there _were_ such things as orange flavoured cough syrups.

So, here she was, making him a bowl of hot chicken soup, while also anticipating for the call that was sure to come.

"Lydia?" Came his weak voice.

And there it was.

Lydia huffed a breath of exasperation before carrying the bowl upstairs, down the hall, and into their room. She was greeted by the sight of used tissues covering the floor like snowflakes, the bed sheets twisted and rumpled, and her husband leaning back against the backboard of the bed, his grey shirt sticking to his chest. He regarded her with tired eyes and eyed the bowl guardedly. Lydia prayed that he wouldn't argue about the soup too.

"You called?" Lydia asked. _Again_, she thought, slight irritably.

Stiles, upon responding, still kept his attention on the soup. "What flavour is that?"

_Oh God, no. _

"Chicken." She said measuredly, adamant on feeding it to him whether he liked it or not.

Fortunately, Stiles' eyes loosened its restraint at the news, and patted the side of the bed with his hand.

"Come sit down." He said, grogginess lacing his tone.

Lydia smiled assuredly and followed pursuit, sitting by his side and spoon-feeding him. Stiles complied with her doing so, which made things a hell of a lot easier for her. Granted, feeding him seemed childish and unnecessary, but seeing him look so weak, and yet adorable, at the same time made the need to take care of him expand.

In between soup feeding, Lydia picked the fever thermometer off the bedside table and placed it under his tongue, feeling his forehead while it did its work. It was warmer than it was before, which was a good sign, but hot no less.

She then checked the thermometer. **101.5 **it read.

"How am I doing?" He asked.

"Better than before, but not completely back to normal." She looked up at him. "Not by a long shot."

Upon hearing this, Stiles tilted his head back and groaned, hating the mere mention of staying in bed for a longer amount of time.

Lydia smiled in amusement, finding his expression somewhat hilarious.

"I could be working right now." He commented with protest. "Lyds, I need to get started on that case."

"That case is the entire reason you're in bed right now." She retorted accusingly. "Stiles," she placed her hand on his cheek and moved it so that he was looking at her. "I know you want to solve this as much as anyone else, but if you keep working yourself tirelessly, you'll end up way worse than you already are."

Stiles processed this information with a nod of his head, seemingly already knowing it.

He then looked at her with wondrous eyes – eyes that made Lydia go weak on her knees – and raised his hand to brush her cheek with his thumb, a habit of his.

He smiled weakly, but affectionately. "I love you."

Lydia mirrored his smile, with more care, and kissed him on the cheek. "Love you too."

"And thanks for putting up with me." He said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I know how much of a pain in the ass I can be."

She let out a small chuckle in response and continued to feed him. "No one ever said being Stiles Stilinski's wife would be easy."

Stiles let out a bigger smile and nodded in agreement.

It was true.

No one ever said it _would_ be easy, but Lydia came to realise that it wasn't hard either. However the case may be, whether he was sick or not, Stiles had a certain spark about him that made her smile without even trying. That spark also had a way of making her look idiotic whenever they argued about something as dumb and pointless as cough syrups.

But she didn't care.

She loved him for it. And if holding onto that spark meant that Lydia had to put up with his nonsense when he was sick, then she didn't mind one bit.

Nope, not one bit at all.


	10. Unrequited Love

A/N: So, this is a Ten-Mark fanfic, meaning it's the tenth chapter of The Stydia Book, further meaning I've reached ten chapters. So far, it's been pretty nice with Fanfiction. There are those of you out there who have given me feedback, favourited and followed The Stydia Book. For that, I cannot thank you enough for doing what you've done.

Your reviews, favourites and follows keep me going :D As for this chapter, as it marks 10 chapters, it's a two-word title, much unlike the other nine I've written, and short, but effective to the point.

I fully dedicate this one to my Fanfiction bae littlexkiller.

Hope you enjoy it :D

And here's to hopefully another 10 chapters.

* * *

Their love had once been unsteady, unrequited to the core of which one felt for the other, and the other simply did not. But still, it clung to them tenaciously, waiting to draw a bridge, an anchor between the two in the case that one-day, upon a life, they would cross that bridge together and meet in the middle.

Oh how that bridge remained uncrossed for so long.

Dangers and threats to life's promises forged up an endless cycle, thus driving them further apart. Such that had crumbled the bridge had made it worse when one fell for another, the one, gravelly so, who had clung onto the very loose fabric of the other, hoping to weave her a blanket of love one-day, upon a life.

The cycle of endangerment continued in a way that led the other, the one who blew off the strands of affection off her shoulder when the wind came, to the iridescent ashes from the smoke of rebirth; a pliant force of a phoenix swept over the crumbling bridge that had once been something to remember.

And so it had continued, for however long it occurred in that limitless time span the lucky few called love.

The last dying embers of what should have been were raised once more, but in a different form, and in a different light. Friendship was the name it chose to go by, as it would make do with what they had left to work with. The winds spoke precariously over the crumbled bridge, now an ancient artefact left to marvel over, for the eyes of many to wonder of how it could have been, maybe one day, maybe upon a life. Indeed, the winds spoke of how the one named Friendship worked well with them. And it was upon that sultry gossip that the established consideration of whether love was not their thing had finally been raised to question.

True? False?

The ashes and coyote relied heavily upon these two heavens of judgement, and it was only then that the tidal waves begun to arise. Crashing down in fights and screams came the sudden break down of what they had with the pair. Until it was none more to consider than a wounded anchor, a profoundly crumbled bridge beyond repairing, the one that was original to start with begun to rebuild. Slowly but assuredly, and piece by piece, the anchor that was once laid to waste stood strong again, between the beacons of what decided they felt for each other, and whereupon hope was lost in the tidal wave of new creations, it had returned.

And this time, it was to stay until the end.


	11. Just A Feeling

_A/N: So now I've got titles that contain more than one word. Gasp! Whoever knew this was possible!? _

_Anyway, this is the kind of fanfic I can so easily imagine actually happening, so I thought 'why not disseminate it to the audience?' And here I am._

_Read away and review too!_

* * *

Lydia woke up to a ceiling, her vision blurring ever so slightly. Sitting up with unease, clutching the thin white bed sheets with shaking hands, she took in her surroundings. She was in a room, that much was obvious. Outside her room was a wide window displaying the tumultuous activity of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Nurses and patients bustled about the hallways, walking to and fro rooms. Sitting on one of the chairs outside with his head leaning on his right arm, eyes closed, was Stiles.

Lydia made a move to go to him, but immediately regretted it as soon as she tried to move her leg. A wire of pain shot up her ankle, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from passing out. The door to her room opened, and in came Melissa Mccall. She smiled at Lydia.

"Hey." She greeted, walking over to her. "You're awake."

"That I am." Lydia commented, rubbing at her forehead. "What happened?"

Melissa's brows furrowed in confusion. "Lydia, you don't- you don't remember? How hard did you hit your head?"

As the nurse ran her hand through Lydia's forehead, pressing for any signs of bumps, she mentally mulled over the events that happened before right now. The pack – Scott, Kira, Liam, Derek, Stiles, Malia and her – they were discussing plans of action against an omega wreaking havoc all across Beacon Hills. Murders were occurring all around, the police force was up to their knees in the amount of dirt they were in, and Stiles' dad… Lydia didn't even want to think of the amount of work the sheriff had to deal with.

She remembered how the group decided to finally catch the omega, whoever it was. Obviously Lydia tagged along; she had to. Not going meant she wasn't important to the pack. And she wasn't going to have any of it, despite Stiles' multiple protests that it wasn't safe for her, especially because she couldn't heal like the others. In turn, Lydia had retorted that Stiles couldn't do it either, but heaven forbid her boyfriend not be stubborn about anything like this. So they went in Stiles' jeep, trailing the woods and coming across several bumps from dead twigs and branches. Needless to say, the ride wasn't great, but Lydia did feel safe. Knowing Stiles was right with her just had that feeling. Then, out of the blue, the infamous omega they'd been looking for had jumped on Stiles' front hood, smashing the glass from the jeep, hurling them out, and smashing Lydia into her tree. The last thing she felt was her leg snap and a sharp pain on her forehead before blacking out.

"Is he okay?" Lydia asked, flicking her eyes back to Stiles' sleeping figure on the chair outside. From the looks of it, he didn't appear to be hurt.

Melissa followed her gaze. "Oh, yeah he's fine. Most of the impact from the injury was on you, unfortunately. But, as luck would have it, it was nothing short of anything serious."

Lydia grumbled and closed her eyes in frustration. Of course the worst of it happened to her.

The sound of Melissa's chuckle brought her eyes open to her face. Dark circles were etched under her eyes, symbolising shadows of fatigue marked by overwork. These past few days had not been kind to Scott's mom, Lydia realised. How could it be anything easy? What with the dead bodies and all, she was surprised doctors weren't running frantic all over the building. This, as an afterthought, brought two questions to mind.

"Did umm- did they catch him?" Lydia asked, drifting her eyes to her hands in front of her. They were paler than they should have been.

"Scott and Derek got him a couple of minutes after he attacked you guys. According to Scott, he didn't put up much of a fight."

"But who is he?"

From the corners of Lydia's eyes, Melissa folded her arms. "That's what they're trying to figure out."

She looked back at Stiles outside, slumped and basically dead to the world before him. She couldn't help but smile a fraction of a bit; he looked peaceful when he slept. Like all the worry was out of him. "And how long has been out there?"

Melissa flicked her eyes at him and smiled too, her eyes giving off a faint sense of sympathy. "All night since we put you in here. The only other place he went to was the vending machine." She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes on him. "You know he almost knocked it down? Apparently it wasn't working."

Lydia, despite herself, chuckled at the mere image of Stiles attempting to knock down a vending machine just for a snack.

"He really likes you, Lydia." Melissa turned towards her and gave a kind smile. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone care for someone as much as he does, and what _I_ forget to realise sometimes is that he's had a crush on you since third grade. That's quite a long time. He's my best-friend's son, which means he's practically _my_ son, and if there's anything I'm sure about, it's that even after all these years, your still his number one."

Lydia forgot to breathe; the words sunk in her mind, leaving marks. She didn't know how to respond to that, let alone think of one.

"You're really lucky to have him." She said, breaking Lydia out of her thoughts. "Anyway, you don't seem to have any bumps on your head, which is good. I'm going to go and check with doctor on you. Want me to wake Stiles up?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, it's fine. Let him sleep. I can only imagine how long he's been sitting there."

Melissa chuckled and left the room, leaving Lydia to mull over everything she had been told by the nurse. Even after all these years, she was still his savour. Lydia felt happy to know that. And what she felt; there was no point in trying to articulate it over the headache she still had. But, in saying that, there was a feeling. Deep down inside, it was there.


	12. Morning Light

_A/N: Gasp! It's a poem! How unlikely for The Assassin's Son to drop in a poem, especially after uploading a week late! Who does he think he is? Why, I'm almost inclined to not read this poem, but I'll do it anyway, because it's in Lydia's point of view, and this author, Assassin's Son, is a needy little fellow who feeds off reviews and favourites. _

* * *

Come the morning light that shines at dawn,

And bring me back to where I belong.

* * *

In the welcoming arms of his to keep,

Shall my soul no longer have to weep.

* * *

For I am safe within his reach,

And damn to those of which they preach.

* * *

That should not become what already is,

But I do not care; I am forever his.

* * *

Until the day where His light claims me,

The embers of my love he shall always see.

* * *

And upon that light where he stands our ground,

There will be no rhyme, no reason, no sight, no sound.

* * *

They ask what has become of my soul's lover,

I tell them it has become him, and that I need no longer suffer.

* * *

For once I had my faith in him; the venomous snake,

And only then did I finally begin to awake.

* * *

Rise I did to his one true call,

Unto held me from my perilous fall.

* * *

So now that light brings me safe and sound,

Into his arms where I am found.

* * *

And when morning comes at the shine of dawn,

Forever we know we will carry on.


	13. Lost

_A/N: Hello?_

_Anyone there?_

_If so, good to see you again! It's been a long while since I uploaded anything on Fanfiction. Reason being, and since I live down under, the past six weeks have been my summer holidays. At first, it was my plan to upload at least one story, but I kinda got carried away. For that, I'm sorry :( _

_Now that my relaxing six weeks are unfortunately coming to an end, further meaning I will have no distractions apart from year 11 (Junior year for my fellow Americans), I will once again continue to make regular weekly (or longer than weekly) updates for you guys. Nonetheless I still thank you all for making The Stydia Book something instead of nothing. _

_But once again, my hiatus is over, and Stydia shall continue. _

_P.S This particular story probably isn't the sweetest way to come back to the fan world of Teen Wolf, but it's different from the others so kudos for that :D :D :D _

* * *

Dear Lydia,

Everyone says I need to move on; that I need to escape this 'dark void' I'm in. They think it's easy to move on from the past, but how can I move on from something I've lost? The other alternative to it was to write this letter. They think it'll help me focus on my priorities, but I don't agree. My priorities, Scott, are fine where they are.

He asks about you, you know? Ever since he started talking, and ever since he realised that there was something missing in his life, he's been asking me the same question, but in different words each time it's asked: daddy, why don't I have a mom? Do I have a mom? Am I ever going to see mommy?

I don't know what to do, Lyds. The most I can do for him is show him the pictures of us when we were teenagers, when we were dating; most importantly, when we were married. It's funny how, looking back on it, we thought we'd have forever, but who knew forever wasn't as long as we hoped it would be? There's no amount to how much I show him, how much I tell him; he still wants to see you. My only hope is that, in time, he'll realise the truth and eventually stop asking.

But what do I do till then, Lydia? The truth is, most of time Scott asks me about you, I myself wonder if you'll ever come back. I know it's been five years, but not a day goes by where I wish and regret so much: I wish it had been me in that car instead of you, and I regret letting you drive that windy day while I was too lazy to come with you. At least, if I did, we could die together.

It's a bit ironic that throughout everything we went through as teenagers – the werewolves, the alphas, the Japanese demons, the assassins – we survived it all, and yet still one car crash was all it took for you to leave me. Could you see it coming? Did your banshee instincts kick in moments before you died? Did it lead you to that bridge, while the rest of you unknowingly followed?

These are the questions I'll never know, Lydia, because I chose to not come with you, wherever you were going. One choice; that's all it took for you to leave my life. You can't imagine how it makes me feel. What is it like to wake up to an empty bed every day? What is it like to have your five-year-old son constantly ask you where his mom is? What is it like to spend your anniversary going to your wife's grave, only to eat lunch alone and talk to it as if she were listening? As if you were listening.

Are you listening? Do you see me every day, Lydia? Because on some nights, when the stars are out, I wonder if you're one of them, shining brighter than the rest. God, I miss you. I miss you so much. I don't think I'll ever fall in love again. Lydia, you were my one and only. And you always will be.

But where are you? Why can't I find you? Why can't I see you in my dreams anymore? You're lost in my eyes, Lydia. No matter how hard I search, I can't find you. I can't find anyone. I'm alone and scared; I don't know if I can keep doing this. I don't know if I can go on.

I can't find you or anyone else because I'm lost. Without you, Lydia, I'm lost.


	14. Surprise

_A/N: Okay so a lot is happening. _

_I recently attended a cousin's wedding, which meant I had to travel half way across the world and into the land of the free and the home of the brave. America. The place where I lived before I moved down under. Now those past two weeks have been glorifying and amazing in every sense of the word, but I also missed one week of year 11 (Junior year), thus bringing on a nice pile of homework. Another thing, prior to those two weeks, is TV. Now, I'm a tv junkie... sorta. And in my world, the tv shows that I watch are transferred into a sort of hierarchy. Supernatural is the almighty king, ruling over the other tv shows that I watch, such as Teen Wolf, The Walking Dead, Breaking Bad, Modern Family. Don't get me wrong, all these shows (especially Breaking Bad) are amazing in their own ways, but I've been watching Supernatural for four years, have a TON of merchandise from the show, treat the characters like family, KNOW and UNDERSTAND each character in a deep sense, fanboy over ever little news about it (such as the early pick up for season 11, although they really need to wrap up the show. 11 seasons is too much), carry it with me forever, and just love it to pieces. So, all in all, Supernatural is the king in this hierarchy. I'm proudly and defiantly one of the biggest fans of the show and am WAY too obsessed with it. _

_And, while battling a sore throat, a cold, and jet lag, I managed to binge watch two episodes of Supernatural as soon as I came back. I'm currently up to date with The Walking Dead and Modern Family, but have missed one episode from each show due to my stay in America. I'm binge watching Breaking Bad, although now it's going to be tough. School isn't so nice to me anymore. _

_Nonetheless I figured its high time I posted this new chapter, so I hope you all enjoy. Feel free (and please do) to drop in a comment, and click that favourite and follow button_.

* * *

Stiles was being suspicious. Not that that was anything surprising. Wasn't he always up to something? On most cases, his questionable antics often got him in trouble. A lot. So, being Stiles' girlfriend was not easy for Lydia Martin. Because it meant she had to watch out for him whenever he was pulling something funny. Which, for the better part of it, happened quite a lot.

So when Lydia was walking to her locker, minding her own business, only to be greeted by a beaming Stiles, she had her doubts.

"What?" She breathed out, anticipating some bizarre proposition.

"I've got something to show you." He replied, still, she noted with slight fear, keeping that smile on his face.

"Am I going to regret this?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

"No, not at all. What makes you say that?"

"Because every time I ask you if I'm going to regret it, and you say no, I end up regretting it."

Stiles scoffed and leaned his arm against the locker neighbouring hers, only to, somehow, have his elbow slip and regain his 'cool' by fixing his posture. "You haven't even heard what I have ready for you."

"And that's what I'm most scared of." Lydia commented before turning around and walking down the hall as fast as her heels would let her.

"Lydia, wait up." Stiles called, jogging to catch up with her. "Don't you want to see what I have planned out?"

"On the off chance that I do want to see it, whatever it is, I'm going to end up walking away from it."

"Why?" He asked, incredulity lacing his voice.

"Stiles, do you not remember the last 'surprise' you got for me?"

"Yeah." The taller of the two confirmed. "And as I recall, it was a pretty kickass gift for you and your dog."

Lydia stopped and faced him, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it out of habit. "Prada ended up tearing that doggy sweater you bought the minute you put it on him, and as _I_ recall, he bit your hand. And then peed all over my living room carpet."

Stiles raised his hands up in exasperation. "Well how was I supposed to know your little carnivore hates it when other people touch him? Or that his bladder explodes whenever he gets excited?"

Lydia blinked. "Okay, first off, Prada is not a carnivore, and, secondly, you know I love you, Stiles. I really do. But I just don't want anything surprising right now." She looked down at the ground. "Not after the day I had."

Her boyfriend placed his hand overs hers on his shoulder, looking at her intently and giving one of his more kind smiles. The ones that left a warm feeling in Lydia's heart; the ones that made her forget about everything except Stiles. "You know you can tell me what happened, Lydia. I'm here for you."

She smiled in return. "I know you are."

Lydia leaned forward, encircled her arms around his neck, and kissed him. It was soft and sweet and innocent to the touch of her lips on his, Stiles snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss with the intricate swipe of his tongue across her bottom lip, of where he nipped at. Lydia moaned in response and opened her mouth, granting him access for entry. Stiles took her up on this and grazed her tongue with his own, mapping out her entire mouth, and cupping her face with both his hands. What started out as a chaste kiss ended up becoming a battle of lips and tongues and teeth and _damn _if Lydia didn't want to drag Stiles into the nearest classroom she could find and have her way with him.

They broke apart to catch their breaths, Lydia completely sure that her cheeks were flushed. Stiles' definitely were, pink tinging the white of his cheeks. His cheeks. Lydia wanted to lick those cheeks. Lydia wanted to lick every inch of his face. Maybe they _could_ go into a classroom, preferably one that was empty, keep the lights off, draw the curtains, grab Stiles and…

"Lydia?" Stiles broker her out of her reverie.

She looked up at him, noticing the dark arousal in his eyes slowly dissipating, and coming back his brown irises. "Yeah?" She spoke shakily, half-stuck in playing out the possibility of classroom sex.

"You- I have- we need to go." He stammered, evidently also mentally playing out another scenario they could be in right now.

Lydia shook her head to banish away those distracting thoughts and stepped away. "No." She simply breathed out. "Not today, Stiles."

As she begun to walk away, she heard him call. "Then you leave me no choice."

And the next she knew, Lydia was being picked up off the floor, hanging over Stiles' shoulder, his right arm planted firmly over her back.

"Stiles, let me go!" She yelled, throwing punches against his back, but to no avail did it help. Stiles kept on walking down the hall, turned onto the left, and walked further down. Fortunately, school was over, which meant most students were up and about anywhere else but here, so that meant no one could see the scene the two of them were putting up. On the contrary, no one was there to take Lydia's protests as a sign for help. She felt, rather than heard, Stiles push open the exit doors of the school with his free arm, and once he was down a few steps, he put Lydia down too.

She continued her assault of flying fists on his chest, enough to the point where he had to shield himself with his arms. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She bellowed in between punches, and seeing that he had enough, stopped and clenched her fists to her side.

"I just wanted you to come with me!" He exclaimed, still keeping his arms up in front of his face.

"So you kidnap me?"

"Lydia, that was hardly kidnapping. I was bringing you out of school. In most cases that's called saving one's life."

"Shut up!" She yelled, slapping his arm hard enough to emit a sting against the palm of her hand.

Stiles winced in pain and rubbed his arm. "Are you done attacking me?"

"Are you done kidnapping me?"

"That wasn't kidnapping!"

"Whatever." She deadpanned, turning around and firmly walking toward his jeep. She turned back around. "Now, since you're unfortunately my ride, will you take me home?"

Stiles grumbled under his breath and followed her to the driver's side of the car. "Getting in the kidnapper's car, are we? And no, I'm not dropping you home."

Lydia stared daggers at him. "Stiles, if you don't take me home right now, so help me I'm going to go full banshee on you till your ears bleed."

He blinked. "Scream all you want, but just-" he placed his hands on the hood of the car and gave her a serious look. "Just come with me. Please? That's all I'm asking you to do. Lydia, please."

The strawberry-blonde gave him an inquiring look, unsure what to make of his pleading tone. Lydia rarely heard Stiles practically beg him to do anything, unless it involved watching Star Wars, which was pretty serious to him. So that could only mean this was serious too.

"Okay." She mumbled, opening the door and getting in. "But if I regret this, Stiles Stilinski, I _will_ make your ears bleed." She looked at him over the passenger's seat. "And it won't be because I'm screaming."

Stiles just smirked and put his hands up in defence. "Consider me warned. Now, Lydia Martin, as a part of being your boyfriend, it's my job to make you happy, right?"

"Umm, yes?"

"Right. So, do you trust me enough when I tell you that we're not going to either one of our houses?"

"I thought you made that obvious a minute ago." She mumbled, fastening her seatbelt.

"I'll take that as a yes." Stiles concluded by twisting the key in the jeep and starting it up.

They drove out of the school and into God-knows-where Stiles was taking her.

Lydia paid vague attention to where Stiles was taking her the whole drive through, which was important to note down, but she couldn't find it in herself to do so. Besides, Stiles knew the consequences to taking her somewhere she didn't know, only to be disappointed by the outcome, so much so that she even expected said scenario to happen.

What she didn't expect was to find themselves driving near the woods of Beacon Hills.

"Why are we here?" She asked, looking across at him.

Stiles only gave her a mischievous smile before getting out the car, Lydia following in pursuit.

"Stiles?" She called.

"Just come with me." Was the only response she was given.

And so Lydia had no other choice but to follow her obnoxious boyfriend through the woods. In the afternoon light of the sun, gold rays of sunlight drifted slowly across the ground, spotlighting broken branches and fallen leaves. The path Stiles was leading her was somewhat familiar, and it took another two minutes for Lydia to realise that they were headed for the edge of the woods, toward the cliff overlooking Beacon Hills. Why was he taking her here?

That question was answered when Stiles stepped to the side and pointed to a spot near the cliff, where lay on the ground a blanket and a picnic basket.

Lydia turned to him and pinched her eyebrows in confusion. "What's all this?"

Stiles walked towards her and laced his hand with hers, squeezing it momentarily. "Remember how you and I were supposed to have date last Friday? We were meant to go to the movies, have dinner afterwards; have fun."

"Yeah, I remember. But the movie was sold out by the time we got there, and some jerk stole our reservations when we got to the restaurant."

"So the whole thing went to flames, yeah?"

Lydia raised her eyebrows. Where was he going with this?

"Where are you going with this?"

Stiles smirked and led her to the picnic basket. "I figured, seeing that I _am_ your boyfriend, and that since it's my duty to make you happy, I should've made up for what happened."

At this, she laughed softly. "Stiles, you know it wasn't your fault."

"I know, but I still think we should get that date we deserved." He looked to the picnic basket. "So, Lydia, will you go out with me, like right now, right here?"

She smiled kindly to him, something of which she only reserved for a few people, and placed her arms around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him.

"It's a date." She chirped when they pulled apart.

For once, Stiles' surprise turned out right.


	15. Feeling Nervous

_A/N: And I'm back. So it's been a month since I last updated, but in spite of that, I've been getting emails informing me of you awesome folks favouriting, following and reviewing The Stydia Book. I just love you all for that. 11th grade may be nothing compared to college or working life, but to me (especially since its a huge jump from sophomore year) I find it challenging, especially when I have three tests in three consecutive periods in one day. So much fun. But I figured its high time I uploaded, and so I present Feeling Nervous. _

_Also, and this is just a petty rant to an anonymous audience, my time to decide my career is coming close. The one drawback: I don't know what I want to be. Of course I tell everyone I know that my aspiration is to become a lawyer, but I don't know anymore. Law just seems... boring. That doesn't mean I won't possibly pursue it, but at the same time I feel - or I wish - there's another calling for me. Again, I don't mean for this to be some therapy session in which I tell you my deepest thoughts, but sometimes lifting the weight off your shoulders just eases things. _

_Anyway._

_Is anyone else super pumped for season 5 of Teen Wolf? Is anyone else waiting patiently for the Stydia action? Is anyone else craving pizza? Cause I'm feeling pretty hungry. While I go phone up Pizza Hut and attempt to bargain one for free, which will eventually backfire and end up with the Pizza Hut peeps hanging up on me, you guys can read on and drop in a review before you leave. Favourites and Follows are also much appreciated. _

_Till next time, folks. :)_

* * *

"Lydia! Wait up!" Stiles called.

Lydia walked faster down the hallway to her next class, her heels clicking furiously on the tile floors. The sound of nonchalant chatter between students began to dissipate as they settled into their fourth period classes for the day. Of course, that's what Lydia would've _liked_ to do, had it not been for Stiles on her tail.

"Lydia." He called again, finally catching up and trying hard to fall into step beside her.

"Stiles, what?" She said irritably. Sure, she didn't mean to sound like that, but far be it for Lydia Martin to act all flowery when she had a human-biology final up next; one of which she had been studying for. Hard. And lord knew what she meant by hard.

"I just want to make you feel less nervous." He reasoned, looking at her. "Jeez, that's all." Came his mutter.

"I have my final right now, Stiles. Believe me, there's nothing you can that's going to make me feel better."

He stopped walking and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him, gently. Lydia, despite herself, felt her breath hitch under the intensity of his stare. The way Stiles looked at her sometimes, much like what he was doing right now… well it was… affectionate. Like she was the sun to his rainy weather. Lydia could only count on one hand the amount of boys who had looked at her like that, and considering the amount of boys she had _been_ with… well it just went to show how she was often seen through the eyes of many guys at school.

Stiles brought his hand up to her left cheek and stroked it soothingly, offering the most kind and sincere and _reassuring_ smile he could offer, like everything would just be all right. "Lydia, you're going to be fine. Trust me. If there's anything that I'm positive about, it's that you _are_ going to ace this final."

She faltered her gaze down to his lips, unable to tame the unease settling about her stomach. "But it's really important." She whispered. "Stiles, if I don't get a good score in this test, it won't qualify as an acceptable result on my application form for Stanford, and if I don't get into Stanford, I might as well kiss my future goodbye-"

"You'll be fine." He interrupted, repeating his statement from before. "Lyds, I've seen you study. I _know_ how much effort you've put into this. Believe me, if there's anyone in the entire world who's confident about you coming out on top it's me." He brushed a loose strand of hair from her ear. "Lydia, you're the smartest person I know. Any college would be lucky to have you."

She looked back up at his brown eyes, wanting to soak in the comfort of his words. He truly believed in her; was so confident and determined she would do well; Lydia only wished she could feel the same about herself.

"You think so?"

Stiles genuinely smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know so." He looked at her with a tantalising smirk. "Honest to God, I'm going to feel sorry for everyone else applying to Stanford."

Lydia's mouth quirked up at the corners. "Why?"

"Because they have no chance next to you."

At this, Lydia returned his genuine smiled and hugged him tight, encircling her arms around his neck and breathing in his scent. She sighed. The way Stiles felt when he hugged her, his scent, his smile, his comedic relief; it felt all too familiar. It felt like home. Like Lydia was lost in her own void of comfort and happiness that was hopelessly _Stiles_. It was in that moment did she feel something flutter in her chest; a warm sort of feeling that rendered her happy and content, bereft of any negative emotion. Lydia didn't know what that feeling was, but she liked it. She liked it a lot.

When she pulled apart he looked at her wistfully, and under that wistfulness… a faint glimmer of hope. "Can I at least give you a good luck kiss?"

"No." She said adamantly, "I can't have any distractions. Even small ones."

He looked at her with what she liked to call 'puppy dog' eyes, the hope in his irises disappearing, and what replaced it was slight sadness. Lydia had to restrain herself from grabbing his face and kissing him endlessly and just removing that sad look from his eyes. "Okay." He muttered, looking down at the ground. "Good luck, then." He began to walk to his class.

And Lydia broke.

"Oh, what the hell." She muttered before walking up to him, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him hard, running her hands through his dark-brown hair; a cosy, familiar feeling under the touch of her fingers. He returned her kiss with just as much as passion, grazing her bottom lip with his tongue and nipping the edge. It was all Lydia could do to stifle a moan. When they pulled apart, Stiles beamed at her with one of his idiotic, and yet hopelessly cute smiles.

"I'll see you after class, then?" He said.

"Yeah, after class." She agreed before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

She gave him a wink before walking back to class and opening the door to her human-bio final, feeling much more confident than she had before.


	16. Five Words

_A/N: If anyone is reading this, I apologise for being gone for nearly two months. _

_Sigh. Needless to say, I've underestimated the work load received by Junior year of high school in EVERY possible way. I've barely had time to write a short fic here and there, much less juggle in a few hours for reading or piano. My teachers have been so graceful and benevolent so as to bestow upon me exams and tests, one after the other in an endless gruelling cycle. The only thing keeping me sane at this point the arrival of season 5 in a matter of two weeks, and words will never amount to how excited I am for the newest season, not to mention its new villains, characters, plot line, full set of 20 episodes, and, of course, the long awaited ship finally sailing, Stydia. I've watched and re-watched the season 5 trailer more times than I can count, and, inadvertently, read many articles and posts on rumours of the 5th season, namely a certain ship. So far I've drawn parallels between conspiracies suggesting that Malia cheats on Stiles with the newbie, lone wolf Theo (Cody Christian), to something along the lines of 'Stiles and Lydia finally get together this season,' to which a mischievous Linden Ashby replied 'maybe' on Twitter. I don't know how to react to all of this, as it could very well be wishful thinking on my part, but you never know. It could happen. And if it does I will personally thank Jeff Davis for finally coming to his senses and realising that the perfect couple has been made official. Regardless of these rumours, I'm still a devoted Stydia fan and will continue to hope Stiles and Lydia find their way together. _

_As for this particular chapter, it's a bit different than the others to say the least. I went online and typed in 'one-word prompts', which lead me to a website that listed out a bunch of words from which I was to write a story about. These are the five words my eyes landed on, and here they are for you to read. I sincerely hope you enjoy what I've given, partly as a 'I'm-sorry-for-being-gone-for-so-long' and partly as a 'Lets-get-this-ship-started.' _

* * *

**FORCES**

They're entities that glide through the wind; they're forces of dark power that prowl the summer heat. They watch with careful eyes when no one's looking; they plot their devices when everything's quiet. And through it all, Stiles can't find it. Find _them_. Whoever they are, whatever they are. They're deadly and silent, invisible to the human eyes, but Stiles knows. He know they're out there. He knows that there are forces lurking around their very lives, threatening to intrude on the domestic bliss he and his friends tried so hard to build.

And what they built, it couldn't have been for nothing. It couldn't have. Stiles wouldn't allow it. He was happily married to Lydia who was as always beautiful off every caress of her strawberry blonde hair and 'welcome home kiss' every day from work. And it wasn't for nothing. He still had a great friendship with Scott; they'd hang out at a bar every Friday, telling the other about work and life and everything and nothing. It was their tradition; it was their custom. And it wasn't for nothing. He still kept in touch with his dad. The Sheriff's retirement left the man bereft of stress lines across his forehead, and instead replaced it with light-hearted smiles and laughter sided with Mrs McCall, who didn't take long to fall in love with him; it didn't take _him_ any longer. And it wasn't for nothing. _None_ of it was for nothing… and yet. Every time he stepped outside to mow the lawn, or to check the mail, or even to get some fresh air, Stiles could feel it. Feel them. Hiding and scheming, waiting for a chance to hone in. He told himself all those dangers were over; they were done for. He didn't need to worry about them, none of them did. That part of their lives was _over_.

But those forces say otherwise; those entities don't agree. And Stiles isn't sure what they are, or when they will come for them. He doesn't know.

And that's what scares him the most.

**CRUELTY**

Her peaceful, content, and dead body is what he sees. Her last breath of life is all he hears. Her last look of her true love – her only love – is all he feels. And he can't take it. Stiles knows far more than anyone that Allison's death was not his fault by any means, but that doesn't stop the dreadful feeling that the blame is on him. He's the reason his best friend lost the first person he ever loved; he's the reason Chris lost the only family he had left, his own _daughter_, taken away from him, rendering the man bereft of another soul whom shared his blood, shared his life. He's the reason a close friend lost her life to save his. It's all on him. And cruelty is the name by which he labels the situation. If he had just blocked the Nogitsune out of his mind; if he had just tried to not destroy the Nemeton, consequently releasing the dark demon from its jar; if he hadn't encouraged Scott to develop his werewolf abilities in the first place.

Maybe then, from that first moment on, Allison would still be alive. Aiden would still be alive. None of them would have to go through what they already have.

When he really thinks about it on those nights he can't sleep and the moon's shining outside, those spiralling thoughts come crashing down on him, breaking through that veil of assurance and denial he worked so hard to build, and its all he can do to hold the weight of it all. On some nights when it happens he tries to hold back tears, but if a few stream down the sides of his face it's not his fault. At least that's not his fault. Stiles can't help it if it happens.

Cruelty is the name by which he labels it, and it visits him almost every night.

**WINTER**

It was that time of year again; one in which Lydia would insist he wear a jacket to work despite the weather only being reasonably chilly for a Californian winter, though on most days it would be freezing cold outside. Those were usually the days when there would be a fire lighting up the fireplace when Stiles would come home from work. It was that time of the year when he would spend the weekends busying himself with gift shopping and lacing the house with Christmas lights. Every time he was outside, Lydia wouldn't let him in till he followed the rules of the mistletoe hanging on the front door. Of course, who was Stiles to deny his wife a kiss every time he stepped inside, even if it was to just take out the trash?

It was that time of year when skies outside shone just a lighter blue for Beacon Hills to have, and it was the perfect time for family and friends. Stiles, Lydia, and Scott would go to his dad and Mrs McCall's place for lunch, enjoying themselves in conversations and lively anecdotes, followed by an exchange of presents. They'd bid each other goodbye at late noon, Stiles giving his father a tight hug and whispering "Merry Christmas, dad," before leaving.

Then would come preparations for the evening, accompanied by friends. He and Scott would merrily ruin Christmas songs by purposely singing them off key, resulting in a cringing group of friends to beg them to stop. Lydia and Malia would set the table with a three-course meal that could feed an entire football team; Stiles would always dive in for the chocolate mousse cake before anyone else could blink. Then there would be the exchange and unwrapping of presents, Scott in particular giving Stiles a shirt with a picture of a clone from Star Wars with the caption 'I ALWAYS WEAR A HELMET' across it, to which Stiles would beam at. Even Derek would be smiling a lot more than he'd be accustomed to.

At the end of the day, when guests would be gone and seasonal auras would fade away, Stiles and Lydia would cuddle up near the fireplace, Lydia resting her head against the crook of his shoulder, and Stiles wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her head. He'd be reminded of a thousand reasons why winter would be his favourite season, and a thousand more why he'd always love his family. Because throughout everything he and his friends had been through together, friends _were_ family.

And that was all that mattered.

**BULLET**

Stiles had dodged many bullets before, both figuratively and literally. Being a police officer, he had to rely on his sharp instincts to keep him out of death row, but that never really stopped any minor thing happening. He could only count on one hand the amount of grazes his skin received from a bullet just missing him by an inch, but could make a list on the many times any supernatural force almost ended his life. It was funny how the regular, simplistic things that should've rendered him afraid – like a gunshot or car crash perhaps – didn't faze him as much as certain things which weren't even normal. Stiles always assumed that it was because he had been so close to Death's door so many times as a teenager that it just made an average accident – like said gunshot – look infinitesimal compared to it.

Never had he made such a huge mistake.

The bullet that pulsated white-hot pain through his broken rib spoke otherwise. It was all Stiles could do to muster the energy to keep himself conscious, just till am ambulance came. He didn't remember much of that scenario, but it left an imprint on his mind. It may have been just a simple gunshot to the shoulder, and maybe back when he was a teenager Stiles would have scoffed at an injury like that, but it was enough to make him understand that even the most mundane of accidents could cost him his life. The faint memories of the hospital and a pale-faced, sickly worried Lydia reinforced that point. And through it all, it wasn't the bullet that bothered him, but the fact that he blatantly overlooked it. Stiles was supposed to be the smart, level headed one who always kept things in check, never let any detail go unheeded. Wasn't that the criteria required for a police officer? And yet he was misguided enough to let one bullet from a stubborn robber who persisted on shooting something before getting arrested – how interesting was it that Stiles was that something?

It never occurred to the man that just because he swept something under the rug, it was never really gone. It was still there, only under his watchful eye, or in his case, not so watchful. Regardless, Stiles was adamant on making sure he took precautions seriously, but he'd be damned if he made one more stop to heaven's gate, only to come back to earth.

On the other hand, his near death experienced proved one thing knowledgeable: some things never changed, no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.

That was proven true just a month later when a bullet rebounded off un-breakable glass and sunk its way into Stiles' shoulder.

**HAPPIEST**

If there was ever a time in his life where Stiles was his happiest, it was now. Miles and miles of grass, green to its meaning, stretched before him and all his friends as they watched their kids run around and play in the fields. Lydia's laughter – there was no sound sweeter than that – brought Stiles' attention to her beautiful figure chatting nonchalantly with his dad on top of the hill, most likely engrossing themselves in anecdotes about Past Stiles Mishaps. He'd have to check in on that later. Lydia's strawberry blonde hair swayed in the wind in its wavy form along with her yellow summer dress that hugged her curves. She glanced at Stiles and gave him a beautiful smile that made his heart melt, and it made him more content than ever. Over at the picnic table near the hill, Isaac and Derek were at an arm wrestling content again, to which Liam was refereeing, and Derek looked perfectly relaxed against a struggling Isaac who was gritting his teeth while trying to keep his arm up. Scott was propped up next to Stiles at the steep of the hill, soaking in the warm Californian sunshine of Beacon Hills. They didn't have to talk; they didn't have to echo a sound. Just sitting there and watching their kids – Stiles and Lydia's son who was 6, and Scott's daughter who was 5 – was their source of sound. And a beautiful sound it was.

Neither of them ever thought amidst the dark perils they went through as teenagers that they would ever get this chance. Of course in their group, supernatural forces was what they were, albeit Stiles, Mrs McCall and his dad. It was that trait that, on one hand, brought all those dangers to them back then, and there may have been serious casualties to sustain, but on the other, it was that trait that whispered _werewolf_ and _banshee_ that made their group what it was right now. Stiles wouldn't believe it for a second that, had Scott never been bitten to begin with, their group would still be their _group_. Despite their proclivity to criticize Scott and the other werewolves' inability to function… normally under the full moon, Stiles was somewhat happy that Scott became a werewolf. It was because of that that they were all together now. Stiles, Scott, Lydia, Malia, Liam, Derek, Isaac. It wouldn't have been possible without him. Of course, not to toot his own horn, but Stiles was the reason Scott got bit in the first place. After all, it was him who initiated going into the woods that night where everything began, so really if he thought about it, he was the catalyst to their pack. But if he was going to be honest, it wasn't him to brought Isaac back to Beacon Hills, and it certainly wasn't him who made Kira leave. _They_ made those decisions; he was just the one who started it all.

And, at the risk of repeating himself but doing it for the hell of it, he had never been happier than he was right now.


	17. Date

_A/N: Soo... it's been a while. Needless to say, I've been very, very busy with school, as I only have one more year left till I graduate. Season 5 of Teen Wolf has been pretty good so far, what with chimeras running loose in Beacon Hills, the Dread Doctors scheming their dark deeds, Scott struggling to maintain what's left of his pack, Kira fighting the inner kitsune, Malia now being hunted down by the infamous Desert Wolf, Stiles battling the tsunami of his mind, Lydia unlocking her banshee powers, Parrish's supernatural identity revealed: a hellhound, Liam's relationship on the rocks with Hayden, and of course, Theo's new pack of revived chimeras. So yeah, a lot is going down right now. While I do have high hopes for 5B, I think we've definitely unlocked a new level of Stydia, cause let's be real, Stalia ain't happening. _

_So in light of that, I made this little fic. _

_Do enjoy and drop in a review maybe? Yes? It would be much, much, much appreciated. _

* * *

The restaurant was dressed and draped in opulence and ambience; a fine weave of the two. Maroon walls and teak tables, dim lights and the slow, subdued touch of piano keys to loosen the atmosphere of the night. Its carefully prepared meals laced with the abstract dance of steam addressing it hot and fresh, accompanied by the gracious flow of ice tea into clear cut glasses whispered highly of its wealth and upper-class domain.

Needless to say, Stiles had been saving up a _lot_ of money for this. And that was the bare understatement.

School was over, a chapter in their lives now closed and a new one yet to open. Its title: College. Granted, sticking to the plan wasn't easy, because it meant keeping tabs on who was going where and how they would all keep in touch. Not to mention the inevitable threat that came their way (Scott could only be more right about things going bad again), but in the end, he managed to secure ties with his friends. _And_. Along the way of senior year, Stiles' heart found its way back to Lydia again, and this time, she reciprocated. He couldn't be happier.

As for now, here he was taking Lydia out to dinner, and not just any dinner. _The Orchid Bistro _was the most expensive restaurant in Beacon Hills; getting a reservation took almost as long as it did to actually afford the money to go there. So while there was a long, _long_ waiting list, he eventually got in. Of course, when he told Lydia the news she was very happy, but insisted that it was too much, for her at least. Stiles simply responded with one of his cheesy-ass remarks, something along the lines of _"nothing's too good for you, Lydia." _If that was anything to go by, her reaction was something else. At least now Stiles knew that over-sappy stuff didn't bode well with him.

"I swear if the people working here offer up sacrifices to make their food taste this good, I wouldn't be surprised."

Lydia looked up from her salad and flashed him an amused smile. "Are you suggesting these cooks are Druids?"

Stiles shrugged and took in a mouthful of mashed potato. "Beats me."

She laughed and took a sip of her ice tea, all the while Stiles took the chance to admire the view for about the sixth time that night. Lydia wore a dark blue dress that hugged her curves and touched just about her knees. While the dark, navy blue of her dress was a startling contrast to her clear, flawless skin and red lips, it accentuated her prominent cheekbones, and the gentle flow of strawberry blonde hair around her head.

Stiles could have spent all day staring at her. Literally. And he would have, had she not reprimanded him every time she caught his eyes on her.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you its rude to stare?" She playfully chastised, giving him a fake disapproving look, tell-tale through the upper curve of her lips.

"Didn't anyone ever tell _you_ it's rude to seduce a man by doing nothing?"

Lydia's smile widened as she narrowed her eyes on him, a look that made Stiles imagine sinful things of her. "Am I seducing you, Stilinski?" To add effect, she batted her eyelashes.

Stiles clenched his jaw and suddenly became less hungry for his steak, more hungry for something else. "You really want to do this now? Lydia, we're in a restaurant. Please."

His girlfriend let out a beautiful laugh at that, a sound sweeter than any good promise life could make. "Okay, okay. I'll go easy on you."

And with that they continued to eat their dinner, Stiles relishing his steak, occasionally moaning at the juices that filled his mouth as he chewed down on the meat. Every once in a while he would eye Lydia's salad warily and make a mental note to start working out. By the time they had dessert, a triple chocolate mousse cake (at which point Stiles was convinced the chefs must have at least store bought it or something), he, like the gentlemen he was trying to reflect, and at Lydia's persistence, paid the bill.

"Stiles, you really didn't have to pay for all that. I could've pitched in." She said as they walked out into the reasonably cool summer night.

Stiles adjusted his black blazer as Lydia put on her jacket, both moving towards the jeep. "What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I didn't pay for dinner, Lyds?"

"A fairly normal one who wouldn't be bankrupt right now?"

"Who says I'm bankrupt?" He retorted as they settled in. Stiles started the jeep and reversed. "Anyway, the point is we had fun tonight, right?" He drove out onto the main road.

"Of course we had fun. Trust me, I don't think I've ever had a meal as good as that." She commented, looking at him briefly.

"But?"

Lydia sighed. "_But_, I still think you didn't have to do all that. I would've opted for something simple if it meant saving your money."

It was Stiles' turn to sigh. "Lydia, don't worry about the money. Reason why I saved up for so long was so I could take you out for just that. Believe me, if spending every dime in my wallet meant making you smile, then," he hesitated, fully knowing that the sappy stuff was to come, and he wouldn't do well with it. "I wouldn't hesitate to be a poor man."

At this, Lydia said nothing, up until the drive to her house. Stiles took the silence as an unspoken message telling him he messed it up again. With his spirit slightly low, he pulled the jeep into her driveway.

Just as the silence continued as they made their way to her door, Lydia turned around, encircled her arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a deep, long kiss. Whatever worry or pang of sadness Stiles felt of messing up immediately evaporated as he moved his head to the side to get a better angle, his tongue tracing the outline of her lower lip, eliciting a moan from Lydia.

When they pulled away, cheeks flushed and catching their breaths, Lydia stroked his left cheek lovingly and smiled. "You really are an amazing boyfriend, Stiles." She looked into his eyes with modest truth. "I love you."

Stiles' heart fluttered at the three words. This was not the first time she said that to him, but still, it felt nice to hear it. "I love you, too."

She brought her eyes down to his chest, and he leaned in to press a soft his to her forehead, his arm curling around her waist protectively.

"After what you said in the car," she muttered into his neck, "I take back whatever I said about you being overly sappy."

Stiles laughed and looked at her. "Really?"

Lydia grinned and nodded. "Really. That wasn't as lame as it normally is."

He just basked in the glory of removing that invisible, yet apparent title of 'too-much-of-a-sap' and hugged her tighter.

Yes, a chapter in his life had just closed, and a new one was about to open, but if that chapter included having Lydia all to himself, as his girlfriend, then Stiles was ready to open it.


	18. Soul Mate

_A/N: **Happy New Year!** Alas, folks, it is 2016! Anyone make new years resolutions? Anyone going to try to COMMIT to those resolutions? Anyone even bothered? Well in light of the hopeful promise of 365 more days, I dedicate the birth of the new year, and present in its upmost simplicity, a short little fic about a boy, desperate to find his soul mate in life. _

_Enjoy folks :) And **please drop in a review** when you finish. Much appreciated. _

* * *

Soul mates were one the distinct feature that made his world so intricate. There was no logic or reasoning behind it; there was no science involved. It was just an accepted notion that tied itself with people, almost as natural as growth in age. In its simplest words, everyone had a soul mate; that was absolute.

Many agreed the concept of the subject was Fate's generous way of ensuring no one died alone, because one way or another, regardless of distance, everyone eventually found their soul mate.

For Stiles however, that wasn't exactly the case.

At the age of 18, or more appropriately, the minute he officially turned 18 – akin to how the process worked with everyone – a name, just the barest whisper, escaped his lips and evaporated right there. "_Lydia_." And soon enough his mind's eye slowly envisioned strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. From that moment on, Stiles made it his mission to find his soul mate, wherever she was.

Days after his 18th birthday, he had already begun making a list of all the Lydias he knew, but was disappointed to find how short the list was. Likewise, no Lydia he knew then had strawberry blonde hair or green eyes. So he then moved on to checking the student records in his school to figure out if his soul mate was perhaps in his year group, or at least in the same school. Again he came empty handed, and along with that was a dismal feeling gnawing at his heart. His father did his best to cheer him up, assuring him that in time he would find her, but there was only so much he could say. Even his best friend, Scott, who had already found his mate –Allison Argent – in less than a week, encouraged him to keep looking.

"You'll find her, dude." He insisted. "Stiles, you _never_ give up. You just gotta keep searching."

In return, the 18-year-old gave his best friend a deflated look. "But what if it never comes to that, Scott? Then what?" He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes in exhaustion. "What if she isn't out there?" He muttered to himself.

Stiles knew Fate wasn't cruel; everyone got their soul mate at some point, but that only begged the impending question: how long would it be till he found Lydia? Would he _ever_ find her? Growing up, he had heard of people finding their soul mates in their late years and still living happy lives, or at least what was left of it. But Stiles didn't want that. Deep inside he always dreamed of finding his soul mate at soon as possible and beginning a happy life with her, whoever she was; it didn't matter to him.

Days of searching eventually turned into weeks, and weeks into months. There was still neither hide nor hair of strawberry blonde, green-eyed Lydia throughout Beacon Hills. In any other circumstance, Stiles would've scoffed and kept on searching till he found what he was looking for, but in this case, with his soul mate in the wind, he felt less and less encouraged to find her. As the months passed by and he became a witness to his best friend's growing relationship with Allison, he slowly begun to lose the determination of the search. Obviously Stiles couldn't be happier for Scott, but seeing what his best friend had only reminded him of the one thing he _didn't_ have for his own.

Eventually, he stopped altogether.

As the months passed by, slowly growing into years, Stiles lived a quiet life in Beacon Hills. He worked very hard at his job at the police station, and through long hours and copious amounts of paper work (perhaps more than he bargained for) he was promoted to sheriff. Even at that position, a life with no soul mate rendered him bereft of any reason to spend time away from his job. While he still remained friends with Scott and Allison, Stiles decided it was best to distract himself with work so he wouldn't always be exposed to the obvious love between his two closest friends, or be left to think about it; a cruel reminder of what he didn't have.

In time, Stiles was promoted from sheriff to detective at an established FBI firm in Beacon Hills. Subsequently this brought on a generous salary and a bigger office, not to mention twice the workload, and not _just_ paperwork. Ultimately this made Stiles satisfied and reasonably happy with his life, and even though he never found his soul mate (the captured image of Lydia, whoever and wherever she was) he came to terms with it.

Maybe Fate decided that Stiles was meant to live a life without a soul mate, or was possibly meant to find her later on in his older years. If he was ever going to be honest with himself, the former seemed most likely to be the outcome; the latter was just high hopes on his part. Perhaps he was the only exception in a world where everyone had a partner, and found that, through the years, he accepted it.

But what Stiles Stilinski didn't realise was that, at the age of 26 in mid-November, a young scientist had just moved to Beacon Hills, having been recommended to work in one of the labs downtown. One on particular night, she would work just as many hours as he did on sequencing genomes and working on efficient outcomes from gene splicing. She would come back to her apartment and be greeted by many boxes filled with belongings that she hadn't managed to unpack.

When she would go to bed that night, amidst her sleep, there would be the faint, involuntary whisper of a name once forgotten.

"_Stiles."_


End file.
